stressed depressed & jay halstead obsessed

♥ - nsfw

all hallows’ eve all in at least it’s justice bad girl, bad girl ♥ beautiful ♥ buzzkill chosen family devil i know ♥ dominate ♥ double date doubts dream of it drunk in love ♥ everything is green ♥ get a room home i was there i’ve got you the jersey little sis may i have this dance? mine naked fridays nap time nemesis partners personal space heater prayers right here safe savior shut up and **** me ♥ someday study buddy thief thinkin’ bout you ♥ together trudy knows best (pt.1)       just ask the halsteads (pt. 2) trust undercover lover 99 problems

The smell of freshly brewed coffee fills the apartment as Jay walks out of the bedroom, securing his badge and gun holster with practiced ease. The quiet of the morning is broken only by the soft hum of the coffee maker and the distant sounds of the city waking up. His movements are automatic, the routine of getting ready for another day of work ingrained in him by now.

As he rounds the corner into the kitchen, a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth when he spots Mia sitting at the island, her eyes glued to her phone as she absentmindedly stirs her coffee. Steam rises from the mug in her hand, curling in delicate wisps and mingling with the light from the large window. He’s still adjusting to the new apartment, with it being a lot bigger than he was used to, but it’s finally starting to feel like a home. And the sight of her, peaceful and unaware of his presence, always makes him pause and wonder how he got lucky enough to have this again.

He sneaks up behind her, careful not to make a sound, and wraps an arm around her waist. She jumps slightly, her body stiffening for a fraction of a second before she laughs and relaxes into his chest. Jay presses his lips to her cheek, a lingering kiss that makes her smile. “Morning, gorgeous,” he hums, his breath warm against her skin.

Mia tilts her head, her smile widening as she turns just enough to kiss him. “Morning,” she replies, her voice still raspy from sleep. She feels rested, the bags under her eyes from the nightmares that kept her up no longer as prominent since she started therapy. It took a while to get to the point of accepting that she wasn’t handling things on her own. Jay was there—has been every single day—but it’s different to talk to someone who wasn’t involved, someone objective that would call her out when she needed it. And it gave her a chance to work through a lot of unresolved feelings, not just the trauma of what happened. She has finally gotten back to a semi-normal place—appointments down to once a week, a lowered dosage of her anxiety meds.

Things are finally good.

Jay begins to move around the counter, the warmth of their moment still hanging in the air between them, but she stops him with a firm hand on his bicep. Mia gestures toward the counter where a travel mug sits waiting for him, already filled—just how he likes it, even though she teases that it’s sociopathic to drink straight black coffee. He groans in exaggerated pleasure, “God, I love you.”

She smirks up at him, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “I know,” Mia says playfully.

He laughs and takes her in, noticing the relaxed outfit she’s wearing—a far cry from the work attire he’s used to seeing her in. Her easy smile tugs at him, and he asks, “Something going on today?”

Mia takes another slow sip, savoring the taste and buying herself a few seconds as she holds the mug to her lips. When she lowers it, she glances between his face and the counter, “Jules is dragging me to that thing.”

He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching with a knowing grin. “Ah,” he teases. “The wedding expo?”

She rolls her eyes, the playful frustration evident in the way she sets her mug down with a soft clink. “Yeah,” she scoffs, “I swear she thinks she’s the one getting married.”

Jay chuckles lightly as he leans against the counter. He knows exactly what she means but truthfully, he likes it, because he knows his mother would’ve been the same—she’d been planning their wedding since they were teenagers. “Well, have fun,” he says, tossing her a wink as he pulls on his jacket. “Don’t make too many decisions without me.”

She snorts, her fingers brushing his as she stands. “We haven’t even picked a date yet,” she points out. Mia moves toward him, standing on her tiptoes to wrap her arms loosely around his neck in a soft embrace. “But I’ll let you know if Jules finds her dream dress,” she mocks, her voice softening as she presses a gentle kiss to his lips. Jay smiles, his heart swelling as he feels the steady beat of her in his arms. “Be safe today,” she orders lightly. “I’m kind of looking forward to marrying you.”

He brushes a hand down her back, his touch lingering, and pulls back just enough to meet her gaze. “You too. You can never be too careful around bridezillas,” he grins, eyes widening playfully.

Her smile deepens as she laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners. “By the way, I bought stuff to make that pasta you love,” she says.

“With those squiggly noodles?” Jay asks as he grabs his coffee again.

She tilts her chin, raising a brow, “Obviously.”

His grin widens, “You’re amazing. I love you.”

“Love you too,” Mia calls after him, the words lingering in the air even after he’s stepped out the door.

Jay isn’t sure how long it’s been since he last spoke to Will or helped get people outside. The chaotic energy of the scene seems to stretch time, each minute slipping by too slowly. His heart pounds painfully in his chest as he moves through the crowd, looking for Boden. The distant wail of sirens echoes around him, but they do little to calm the turmoil inside him.

“Any news?” Boden asks as Jay approaches, his voice sharp but calm, grounded in the discipline of years spent in the field.

“Nobody’s heard from him,” Jay replies, his voice strained, rough around the edges from the tension that’s building up. The words taste bitter in his mouth. He swallows, trying to push past the growing anxiety. “I’m worried he’s still inside somewhere.”

Boden’s expression hardens with quiet understanding, but Jay doesn’t have time to dwell on it. He heads over to the manager again, pulling out his phone and showing him the picture of his father. His fingers tremble slightly, but he’s too focused to care. “Come on,” he says, his voice edged with frustration, the urgency dripping through. “You must have seen this guy today. Pat Halstead. He’s a crusty old pain in the ass. Never smiles, loves to yell at people.”

The manager takes the phone, glancing at the photo before looking back up. He nods slowly, “Okay, yeah. I know the guy. I haven’t seen him today... But he did have a visitor.”

His throat tightens, and his heart thuds against his ribs with a sinking feeling that he can’t quite explain. “A visitor?” he repeats, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. “Who?”

The manager shrugs helplessly, clearly struggling to remember in the madness surrounding them. “Some woman. Maybe 5’5”, late twenties or early thirties, dark brown hair. Real pretty.”

Jay’s stomach drops, the ground beneath him feeling like it shifts. His hands, which have been steady through the chaos, suddenly tremble. His phone feels like lead in his hand as he locks it, then unlocks it again. The background picture stares back at him, and his breath catches in his throat before he shows it to the manager.

“That’s her,” he confirms, still oblivious to the storm his words are causing as he focuses more on his computer.

Time feels like it freezes. His chest tightens painfully, his breath shallow. Mia. The thought of her in the building—trapped, in danger—sends a flood of panic crashing over him, and it brings him right back to almost a year ago. It’s overwhelming, suffocating. The weight of his dad’s condition and the terrifying idea of Mia being caught in the flames collide in his chest, making it feel like there’s no room to breathe.

Boden catches the shift in his posture—the way his entire body tenses, the unspoken panic taking over. He leans in, sensing the change in the air. “Does he have any friends in the building?” Boden asks, his voice calm but sharp.

“I see him sometimes,” the manager says, “pushing Mr. Strouse. He’s in a wheelchair. Ronnie Strouse.”

“A guy in a wheelchair?” Jay snaps back into focus quickly. “What floor does he live on?”

“25C. Top floor.”

“That’s where they went, for sure,” he says, more to himself than anything. His body is already in motion, heading toward the stairs. His heart races, but all he can think about is getting to Mia and his dad. There’s no time to waste.

“Halstead,” Boden’s voice cuts through the rising panic, firm and commanding. Jay doesn’t even have time to look back before a strong hand grips his arm, yanking him to a stop. “I can’t have a cop get killed on my fireground.”

“Chief—” Jay starts, frustration and fear surging inside him, but Boden cuts him off before he can finish.

“My men will handle it,” Boden says, his voice unwavering. There’s no room for negotiation in his tone, no time for emotional impulse.

Jay clenches his jaw, the anger and fear building up inside him like a crushing weight. He knows Boden is right, that his focus needs to be elsewhere, but every instinct inside him is screaming to go—to run to the 25th floor, to find his family. With a slow exhale, he forces himself to nod, swallowing down the words that are caught in his throat. He watches Boden for a beat longer before turning back toward the front doors, his stomach still in knots, his pulse pounding in his ears.

As he steps away, he knows he has no choice but to trust Boden and the rest of 51. But in that moment, Jay can’t shake the feeling that time is slipping through his fingers—faster than he can keep up with.

“Chief,” Casey’s voice crackles through the radio, sharp and steady despite the chaos. “I got three victims on 25. Jay’s fiancée, and his father and his friend.”

Jay’s heart stops. His legs feel like lead as he comes running from the spot where he’d been forced to wait, the words barely registering before the panic surges through him. His breath catches, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the sound of his blood rushing in his ears. The waiting, the uncertainty—it's a torture that he hasn’t experienced in a while. Each second feels like an eternity.

Boden’s voice cuts through the noise, pulling him back to reality. “What’s their condition?”

“Conscious and responsive,” Casey responds, and Jay feels a spark of hope. “But Mr. Halstead’s in rough shape.”

His stomach drops.

He’s waiting outside for seconds, minutes, hours—he can’t tell the difference. And then Casey is coming out of the building, Pat Halstead’s limp form slung over his shoulder like a ragdoll.

“Dad!” Jay calls out, running over. “Is he all right?”

“He was above the fire floor. Swallowed a lot of smoke,” Casey explains, his voice steady but tight with strain. “Been in and out of consciousness.” He places Pat onto the gurney gently.

His breath catches as he watches the paramedics quickly start their work. He’s already beside them, his mind racing faster than his legs can carry him. “Casey, thanks, man,” Jay manages to say, but his voice falters, his attention already shifting. He glances over his shoulder, eyes searching desperately for Mia. He forces himself to focus as he turns to the paramedics, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “Hey, this is my father. His name is Pat Halstead. He’s 64 years old. Listen, he had bypass surgery a month ago.” His eyes flick back to his dad, barely keeping his hands steady as he reaches out to him. “Dad, can you hear me?”

Pat's voice is weak, ragged with smoke and pain as he coughs between breaths. “I’m... I’m okay, Jay,” Pat manages to croak, brushing him off.

“Where’s Mia? Why the hell was she here?” His voice cracks with raw emotion, his chest tight with frustration, fear, and confusion. His dad doesn’t answer—just starts coughing again, his breathing shallow and labored.

Then, as if the universe is answering his silent prayers, he hears his name being called over his shoulder. Jay whips around. His eyes lock on Mouch, carrying his father’s friend, Ronnie. Behind him, a firefighter he doesn’t recognize is carrying Mia, her head lolled to the side. And in that moment, Jay feels his world shift beneath him—his feet move before he’s even consciously aware of it, pushing through the crowd of first responders.

He doesn’t realize how hard he’s running until he reaches her, his heart pounding in his chest. The paramedics are just starting to place her on a gurney when he reaches her side. “Mia!” he calls desperately, the relief flooding through him like a dam breaking, but it doesn’t last long. His hands tremble as he grabs hers, but her eyes are closed. Her chest rises and falls, shallow and slow. His stomach drops to his knees as he watches them work on her.

One of the paramedics glances up at him, his voice clinical and calm. “Do you know her?”

“She’s my fiancée,” Jay replies, his voice low but filled with raw fear. He blinks rapidly, trying to clear the tears welling up in his eyes. His throat feels tight as he watches them place an oxygen mask over Mia’s face. His thumb traces the outline the ring on her finger, a desperate attempt to anchor himself to her. “Is she okay?”

“She took in a lot of smoke before losing consciousness,” the medic responds quickly, his hands steady as they work to stabilize her. “We need to get her to the hospital now.”

The words sting, sharp with the fear they carry, and make his head spin. He nods quickly, trying to breathe through the tightness in his chest. “I’ll ride with her,” he says hoarsely. The urgency in his words cuts through the panic threatening to drown him. “Wait for me,” Jay orders the medics. He doesn’t even give them a chance to respond before he’s moving toward his dad.

His eyes meet Boden’s for a moment as he runs, the weight of the entire situation pressing down on his shoulders. He reaches the paramedics who are loading Pat onto another ambulance, the steady beep of the heart monitor in the background. “Dad, I’m going to ride with Mia, okay?” he says quickly, swallowing hard, but keeping his voice steady for Pat’s sake. “We’ll be right behind you. Will’s already waiting, okay?”

Pat nods weakly, coughing between breaths, his face pale as he lifts a shaky hand, trying to wave him away. “Go, Jay... Go...”

Jay doesn’t need any more encouragement. With one last worried look at his dad, Jay rushes back over to the ambulance where Mia is already being loaded. He climbs in behind her, his hand instantly reaching for hers, squeezing it as he pulls it into his lap. He looks down at her smoke-smeared face, the familiar features now looking fragile. His thumb brushes over the ring again—his mother’s ring, the one he gave her after she proposed first, the one he couldn’t ever imagine taking off her finger. He holds her hand tighter, refusing to let go, even as the sirens wail, the world outside a blur of flashing lights and rushing air.

The familiar hum of the bullpen settles around you like a well-worn soundtrack—keyboards clacking, papers shuffling, and the occasional dry sarcasm tossed across desks. For once, the day isn't ending in sirens and chaos. The case is closed, the reports are filed, and no one's bleeding.

You perch on Adam’s desk, legs swinging idly as you grin at the memory playing back in your mind. “I swear to God, this guy actually thought he could outrun me.”

Adam looks up from his computer, already half-laughing. “What, the dude with the weed?”

You nod, hands animated, “Panicked and tried running full speed in Crocs. Took two steps and ate it.”

“He deserves time just for that decision,” he says, chuckling.

Kevin leans back in his chair, a grin spreading across his face. “Wait—were they in sport mode, though?”

“Nope,” you snort at the image of the young guy face-planting.

Antonio lets out a low whistle. “Rookie mistake. But still doesn’t beat fence guy last summer. Got his pants caught mid-jump, boxers and all on display. High school girls can be brutal.”

“That was legendary,” Adam laughs. “I still think about that poor bastard whenever I pass a chain link.”

You’re mid-laugh, the kind that warms your whole chest, when it hits—that prickling sensation on the back of your neck. Not danger. Not discomfort. Just… noticed. You glance across the bullpen and catch him instantly.

Jay. Leaning against his desk, arms folded across his chest, that signature calm intensity written all over his face. His eyes are on you—have been, apparently—and he doesn’t look away when you meet his gaze. There’s something behind it. Something steady. Something that makes the room, for a heartbeat, feel quieter than it actually is.

Your smile softens. You slide off the desk, feet landing lightly on the tile, and cross the room toward him. “Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask, your voice low enough to keep the moment just between the two of you.

Jay blinks once, like he hadn’t realized he was staring. Then the corner of his mouth lifts, slow and easy, and he shrugs a lazy shoulder. “No reason.”

You raise a brow, skeptical. “Uh huh.”

Before you can call him on it—on whatever that look was—Adam claps his hands, cutting through the mood quickly. “Alright, enough case talk. Molly’s?”

A round of agreement sweeps through the room like muscle memory. Jackets are shrugged on, phones are pocketed, and the familiar post-case ritual clicks into place.

Jay steps up beside you as the group heads out, his shoulder brushing yours in that unintentional-but-not-really kind of way. He doesn’t say anything. But that look?

Yeah, it never really leaves.

Molly’s is buzzing with the end-of-shift crowd. The scent of beer and fried food clings to the air, the low murmur of conversation rising and falling like waves around you. Laughter bursts from a table near the bar, and someone cues up a familiar song on the jukebox.

You’re tucked into a high-top with Hailey and Kim, the three of you leaning in close, drinks in hand, laughter flowing a little too easily. There’s a comfortable burn in your chest, a fuzzy warmth curling through your limbs.

Hailey narrows her eyes at you, grinning. “Alright, be honest—how many drinks have you had?”

You squint, holding up fingers that don’t want to stay still no matter how hard you focus. "Three?”

“More like five,” Kim snorts.

You gasp, clutching your chest dramatically. “Rude. I am offended by your lack of faith in my ability to pace myself.”

“Yeah, no,” Hailey bites back a laugh. “You’re drunk.” When Kim laughs and points an accusatory finger, Hailey arches an eyebrow at her. “So are you.”

You wave her off, giggling with Kim, and reach for your drink again—but a shadow falls over the table before you can take another sip.

“Alright, that’s enough.”

You glance up, already grinning. Jay’s there, arms crossed, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. He looks like he’s been watching for a while.

Kim leans in, stage-whispering, “Buzzkill incoming.”

“Jay,” you say sweetly, dragging out his name as you rest your chin in your palm. Your eyebrows draw together, face scrunching in mock-anger, “You’re always so serious.”

He sighs, dramatic in his own right, but he is fighting back a smile. “You’re about one drink away from me carrying you out of here.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s a little dramatic.”

“Is it?” he counters, eyebrow raised in that classic, skeptical Halstead way.

You open your mouth to argue, but as soon as you shift in your seat, the room gives a gentle spin. You blink slowly. Huh. Okay… maybe he has a point. “Fine,” you grumble, pushing your drink away.

Jay smirks, victorious. “That’s what I thought.”

You slide off the stool, swaying slightly. Before you even register it, his hand finds your arm, firm and grounding. His touch makes your heart trip in a different kind of way. You glance up at him, vision a little fuzzy around the edges, but his expression is clear as day. Focused. Amused. Warm. He helps you slip on your jacket, tries not to laugh as you struggle to put your arms through one at a time. You pout, lips pushed forward in mock betrayal. “Why do you hate me?”

Jay chuckles, “Actually, I love you.”

You frown like that makes less sense than the spinning bar, and when you stumble, he catches you with an easy laugh, his arms strong around your waist.

“In fact,” he says softly, green eyes sparkling down at you, “I don’t think I could love you any more than I already do.”

Your breath catches, heart pounding against your ribs. It shouldn’t still make you feel like this. He says he loves you all the time. But it does still feel like this—like it’s the first time. And it’s the best feeling in the world. A lopsided smile pulls at your lips, and you lift a hand, grabbing his chin. “You’re the best,” you gush, voice featherlight.

Jay shrugs on the clean clothes Will keeps at the hospital, hissing slightly when the fabric brushes against his ribs. The x-rays confirmed what he already knew—three broken, another badly bruised. On the bright side, his face didn't need any stitches. Will had threatened to sedate him if he didn't stay in bed, had argued for nearly ten minutes about his refusal to stay still. But Jay couldn't. Not when every second spent lying down felt like a moment wasted—felt like another chance for something to go wrong. The pain meds haven't kicked in yet, the bruises burn across his ribs, his knuckles throb with every heartbeat, but he doesn't care.

All he can think about is Avery.

All he can see is her pale face on that gurney, her blood soaking through his fingers, the way her body jerked when they shocked her. All he can hear is the monitor beeping as she died right in front of him. It's all seared into his brain, and it's killing him. By the time he stumbles into the waiting room, he feels like he's suffocating.

Everyone turns to look at him. The team is here. Hell—the entire district is here. It's quiet as they all wait for news, and he can't help but imagine this is what it looked like not too long ago, when it was him in the operating room fighting for his life. Jay shifts uncomfortably under the stares, his ribs screaming in protest as he moves to an empty chair, dropping into it with a soft grunt, his hand instinctively pressing against his side.

Kim glances over at him, her brows knit together in concern at the way he's been sitting still for the past forty-five minutes with his head in his hands. She exhales, elbowing Adam lightly. "Get him to lie down before he passes out."

Adam grunts but doesn't move, just shifts in his chair and leans his head further into her shoulder. "You go try. See how that works out for you."

"I'm pregnant, I shouldn't have to get up," she points out, nudging him harder. He tilts his head just enough to look up at her, cracking one eye open. At her raised eyebrow, Adam lets out a long sigh and sits up straight.

Before he has a chance to stand, Hailey gives him a nod and heads over herself. She crosses the room carefully, slowly, and settles into the empty chair beside Jay. She doesn't say anything, doesn't push, but she can tell that he knows she's there. It takes another ten minutes before he straightens, leaning back just enough to ease the pressure on his ribs, a soft groan escaping before he can stop it.

"Need more pain meds?" Hailey asks quietly.

Jay lifts a hand to scratch his jaw tiredly. He blinks a few times, forcing his eyes open wider, fighting against the pull of exhaustion. "I'm fine," he mutters. He shifts again, trying to find a more comfortable position to no avail.

After a few more minutes of silence, of him feeling Hailey's concerned eyes looking him over, he exhales slowly. "I shouldn't have snapped at you earlier," Jay admits lowly, his voice rough from hours of silence and strain. He doesn't look at her at first, just stares at his hands, the dried blood still staining his knuckles. "I know you were just trying to help."

Hailey tilts her head slightly, studying him. Then, after a beat, she sighs, shaking her head. "You don't have to apologize, Jay."

"I do." He finally looks over at her, and he sees the concern in her eyes. "I'm sorry."

When she meets his gaze, she sees it—the remorse, the guilt, the helplessness. Hailey nods, a faint, understanding smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "I've been where you are. You're allowed to be scared."

He grits his teeth, his bruised jaw tightening painfully. "Yeah, well," he swallows thickly, glancing down at his lap, "it's not an excuse." Jay pauses, letting the words hang in the silence for a moment before meeting her waiting blue eyes again. "I'm sorry for all of it. I was a pretty shitty boyfriend."

Hailey exhales a laugh, her ponytail swaying gently as she shakes her head. For the first time since they found his truck smashed to pieces, her eyes sparkle with something other than worry. "You weren't so bad."

Tilting his chin, Jay arches a tired, doubtful brow, "No?"

"No." She shrugs lightly, her lips quirking up. "Maybe a little emotionally stunted, but nobody's perfect."

He scoffs, letting out a small, tired chuckle as he leans further back, resting his head against the chair. "You really know how to make a guy feel better." She's not wrong, though. He was in so much denial about his feelings, so afraid of admitting the truth, that he led her on way longer than he should have. And she deserved better than that.

She smirks, but her eyes soften. "We had good moments, Jay. And I know that you care about me." Hailey pauses, her smile faltering just slightly. She exhales, her voice quieter now. "But you love her."

Jay stills. His chest tightens, his fingers twitch, but he doesn't look away. Because she's right. She's always been right. Avery is the love of his life. And Hailey... Hailey was what he needed at the time, but she was never meant to be his forever.

And she thinks she's always known that, but right now, she sees it in his face. In the way his throat bobs, in the way his jaw clenches like he's about to argue. But he doesn't.

Instead, he sighs, tilting his head slightly, "Yeah."

The admission hangs heavy between them, but instead of pain, there's something lighter. Something that feels like relief. Hailey nods once, then looks away, staring at a spot on the floor, blinking rapidly. She takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly, pressing her lips together. When she looks back, her smile is real—comforting, hopeful. "She'll pull through this. I haven't known her that long, but she's stubborn as hell."

Jay lets out a sudden, watery laugh, rubbing his forehead and blinking back a fresh wave of tears. "Yeah. Yeah, she is."

If there is one thing he knows, it's that his girl won't go down without a fight.

Jay still hasn't moved. Officers have come and gone, and a few people from 51 even stopped by, but he never left his seat. His fingers stay laced together, elbows resting on his knees, his gaze locked on the floor with a haunted, unblinking intensity. Her blood is still under his nails—dried, dark, staining the creases of his skin. He should try to wash it off again.

But he can't. Not until he knows she's okay.

The room is quiet now. The team is spread out, some sitting, some pacing, all waiting. The silence isn't peaceful or comforting—it's deafening. It allows his mind to wander to the darkest places, places he thought were long behind him.

He rubs his fingers over his tired eyes, his jaw clenching to keep everything locked down. A shadow falls over him, but he doesn't need to look up to know that it's his sergeant. He recognizes the sound of his boots, the quiet, weighted way he moves.

After a few moments, Voight lets out a breath, voice gruffer than usual. "She'll be okay."

He doesn't respond immediately. Just nods once, his throat too tight to speak. Because he wants to believe that, and the quiet lets him. Voight sinks into the chair beside him, his body just as exhausted, but his presence is solid. The silence between them is heavy—not uncomfortable, just weighed down with something neither of them say out loud. Because they both know what this is. They both love her. They both lost her before and barely survived it.

Jay swallows hard, his voice barely above a whisper. "I should've protected her."

"She's not some rookie, Jay," Voight tries to reason, eyebrows raised.

He shakes his head before dragging a hand across his forehead. "That doesn't matter." His breath shudders, voice shaking with guilt, "We shouldn't have split up."

Voight exhales slowly, his fingers lacing together as he stares at the floor in front of him. "That girl has been fighting her whole damn life." His voice is low, haunted, almost like he's trying to convince himself as much as Jay. "She's survived a lot. She'll survive this."

Jay closes his eyes briefly, his chest tightening. "You sound so sure."

He turns his head, eyes sharp but softer than Jay is used to seeing. "Because I raised her. I've seen her at her worst—we both have. And she's too stubborn to let a son of a bitch like Nikolai Volkov win."

There it is again. Her stubbornness. When Jay first met her, it infuriated him—how she pushed his buttons, bossed him around, never let him drive. But now, it's one of the things he loves most about her. Because after everything she's been through, even when she thought she had nothing left, when she wanted to give up... She always came back. To him.

His breath hitches. Jay blinks hard, looking away, his throat burning. And Voight—he looks just as wrecked. As their leader, he rarely cracks—he doesn't allow himself to. Because they've both lost before. They've both buried people they love.

They cannot lose her.

Jay lets out a shaky exhale, his hand pressing against his mouth briefly before he forces out, "I can't do this again, Hank." His voice breaks, and he clears the emotion from his throat. "I can't."

He closes his eyes for a second, his fingers tightening where they rest. Voight reaches out, gripping the back of Jay's neck. Not rough, not harsh—but grounding. A rare, unguarded moment. Then he exhales, leaning back against the chair, a bit steadier. "We won't have to."

Jay sucks in a breath, his chest burning, his ribs aching, his heart breaking. And Voight just stays beside him. They don't say anything else. They just wait for the door to open. Tension clings to the air, thick and heavy, weighing down on everyone like a vice that won't let go.

And then it does.

The second Jay sees his brother, he shoots to his feet, every muscle in his body protesting as his chest tightens violently.

Everything stills.

Will takes a breath, his expression steady, but tired. "She's alive."

The words hit like a wrecking ball. For a second, no one moves—like they're all trying to process it, trying to let it sink in. The breath Jay has been holding for hours finally escapes. His shoulder sag, one hand gripping his ribs as his eyes slam shut.

"Thank fuck," Adam mutters, rubbing a hand over his face, his entire body losing its tension. Kim exhales sharply, looking up at the ceiling, trying not to cry—and failing. Kevin lets out a deep breath, relief finally softening his features. Voight, allows his emotions to show—for once—as tears cloud his vision.

Hailey smiles softly, her eyes falling shut for half a second before they flicker back open—landing on Jay, who looks like he might collapse.

"She lost a lot of blood," Will continues, his voice gentler now, as if he knows just how close his brother is to falling apart. "The knife punctured her lung. She went into hypovolemic shock and coded on the table, but they brought her back. She's stable now."

Jay swallows hard, his fingers rubbing his tired eyes. "Is she awake?"

Will shakes his head, "Not yet. The next few hours are critical." He hesitates, something dark flickering across his face before he finally says it. "She was without oxygen for some time. We won't know the extent of the damage until she wakes up."

Jay sucks in a sharp breath, his head dipping, a mix of exhaustion and overwhelming emotion crashing into him all at once. His hand grips the back of his neck, his chest rising and falling too fast. "You mean if she wakes up, right?"

Will steps closer, dropping a hand onto his shoulder, squeezing. "They're taking her to the ICU. You can see her soon, I promise."

He nods, lips pulling into a tight line. He doesn't miss the fact that his brother didn't answer the question. He swallows hard, blinking rapidly, his hands shaking.

Voight moves forward, clamping a steady, solid hand onto his back. His voice is gruff, but softer than usual, "She's a fighter."

Dragging a shaky hand over his forehead, Jay just nods again, trying like hell to compose himself. He manages a quiet thanks to his brother before giving in to the shakiness of his knees, falling heavily back into his chair.

And then he's waiting again.

The first thing Avery registers is pain—a deep, searing agony spreading like fire through her side, burning through every nerve ending. It's overwhelming, clawing at her ribs and stealing every breath she tries to take. She's on the ground. Cold concrete presses against her cheek, sharp and unforgiving, a stark contrast to the warmth pooling beneath her—the thick, sticky warmth of her own blood. Her fingers twitch, instinctively trying to press against the wound, but they’re weak, shaking.

But she knows one thing. She needs to move, needs to get up even though her limbs feel like lead. She forces a breath past her lips, sharp and shaky, black spots dancing across her vision. Her side is wet—warm—blood pooling between her fingers. Her stomach lurches. Not yet. She can't stop yet.

With everything she has left, she digs her elbow into the ground, pushing forward. Her body protests, screaming in agony, but she grits her teeth and keeps going. The hallway blurs in front of her, but she doesn’t care.

She just has to find him.

Her fingernails scrape against the cement, breaths shallow, her entire body trembling from blood loss. Everything is slipping in and out of focus, reality warping, flickering, the darkness threatening to swallow her whole. With a stuttered exhale, she collapses, unable to drag herself forward anymore.

A voice calls her name, cutting through the haze—loud, rough, desperate. She recognizes it instantly.

Her heart stumbles, and she barely has the strength to lift her head. But he's there. Jay drops to his knees beside her, his hands everywhere—pressing against her wound, cupping her face, shaking. She tries to speak, but her throat is too dry, her lips barely parting.

Then his hand slides into hers, warm and steady, bringing her back. "Stay with me, Ave," he pleads, his voice breaking. She barely registers anything else. Just his voice. Just the warmth of his palm wrapped around hers. Her lashes flutter, her body slipping further into the abyss. His voice reaches her again, shaking with every word. "You're okay. I got you."

Avery manages to breathe something out, but she's not sure what she's saying. Time is moving so slow. She blinks, but everything is hazy as spots cloud her vision. She tries to move, but her body won't listen, won't respond the way it should. She's stuck, trapped between here and somewhere else.

Just as quickly as she can make out the blurred figures of her team, they're gone, She thinks she's in the back of an ambulance now. All she feels is pain, and him. The way his grip tightens. The way he leans closer.

"Hey, baby," Jay murmurs, voice rough and uneven, like he's barely holding himself together. She clings to the sound of it, like a lifeline pulling her back from the edge. She blinks sluggishly, and for the first time, she sees him clearly. His face swims into focus, shadowed and wrecked, his green eyes sharp with worry but soft with relief, like he wasn't sure she'd open her eyes at all. "You're going to be fine," he tells her, and she wants to believe him.

Wants to tell him she's okay—that she just needs a second to get her bearings. But something is on her face. Something cold and plastic, pressing against her mouth, forcing air into her lungs. It's too much. Too confining. She hates it. Avery lifts her hand, weak and trembling, trying to pull it away.

"Ma'am, you really shouldn't do that," someone else says—someone unfamiliar, someone who isn't Jay—but she doesn't care.

She wants to breathe on her own. She wants to talk to him. She wants to tell him that she's still here, that she's with him.

Jay catches her wrist, his fingers gentle but firm, stopping her from removing it. "Keep the mask on." His face swims above hers, too blurry at the edges. She narrows her eyes, her best attempt at a glare, because he's always bossing her around, even now. And he huffs out a laugh, small and broken, but real. "Don't give me that look.”

It happens too fast. Her chest tightens, and she can barely breathe. Something is wrong. She tries to open her eyes, tries to hold on, but the pain suddenly rushes back, white-hot and unforgiving. She can still hear his voice, but it's growing fainter now.

"You're the strongest person I know, okay? You fight, like you always do."

The words slice through the darkness, dragging her back for a single, fleeting moment. The machine beside her starts screaming, a deafening wail of alarms and flashing lights. The pain turns to nothingness, the sounds muffling, the world pulling away like she's watching everything from the other side of a glass wall.

Her heart clenches. She tries to squeeze his hand, tries to respond, but it's like her body isn’t hers anymore.

And then there’s nothing.

Avery wakes slowly, as if being pulled from the depths of a dark ocean. Consciousness creeps in like a tide, steady but disorienting, leaving her suspended in that hazy place between dreams and reality. Her body feels heavy, weighted down by exhaustion and the dull ache radiating from her side, each breath reminding her that she’s alive but not unscathed.

The first thing she registers is warmth. A steady, grounding heat against her skin—the solid weight of a hand wrapped tightly around hers. It tethers her, pulling her further from the abyss, back into the world of the living.

She blinks sluggishly, her lashes fluttering against the brightness, and the sterile glow of hospital lights sharpens in focus. The rhythmic beeping of a monitor fills the quiet, steady and reassuring, but there’s something else—something more fragile threading through the space around her.

Then she sees him.

Jay.

Slumped forward in a chair beside her bed, his forehead resting against their joined hands, his fingers curled around hers like he’s afraid to let go. His face is bruised, dried cuts lining the sharp angles of his jaw, and his breathing—deep but uneven—sounds like he’s fighting even in sleep. His other hand is curled loosely around her wrist, thumb resting just over her pulse point, as if needing the proof that she’s still here.

Avery exhales softly, her chest rising and falling in a deep, grateful sigh. He's okay. And unlike the last time she woke up in a hospital bed, he's here.

Her fingers twitch against his, barely moving, but it's enough. Jay stirs, his brows knitting together before his green eyes flicker open, still clouded with exhaustion but sharp despite the haze of sleep. The second he registers that she's awake, his entire body snaps upright so fast his chair nearly tips back, despite the pain he still feels.

"Ave," he breathes, her name leaving his lips like a prayer, like a lifeline finally thrown back to him. His grip tightens instinctively, his fingers brushing over her knuckles, grounding himself in her touch, in the warmth of her skin beneath his.

Her lips part, her voice barely a rasp that makes her throat hurt. "Hey."

Jay exhales sharply, and he realizes he’s been holding his breath since the moment he found her. His fingers press lightly against the inside of her wrist again, reassuring himself that she’s real, that her pulse is steady, that he’s not imagining this moment. "You scared the hell out of me."

She blinks up at him, not even registering that he spoke. Her brows furrow, concern pushing past the exhaustion as she struggles to lift her arm, ghosting her fingers over the butterfly bandage above his brow. “Are you okay?”

He huffs, something that's part laugh, part broken, before grabbing her hand and pressing it to his lips. His thumb moves absently, stroking slow, careful circles over the inside of her wrist. “I’m fine,” he mumbles into her skin. When his eyes meet hers again, they’re clouded with unshed tears. “You’re not.”

She swallows, but her throat is too dry, the words too thick to force out. She feels the soreness in her chest now, the distant ache of ribs bruised from the seatbelt, the sting of stitches pulling at her side. It’s all too familiar. “I am,” she lies, squeezing his fingers weakly, forcing a teasing, barely-there smile. “It was just a scratch.”

Jay scoffs, a choked sound, and shakes his head, “You’re in the ICU, Avery. You had a punctured lung and lost too much blood. You almost died.” His voice cracks on the last word, and he clenches his jaw, swallowing hard. “You’re not fine.”

She sighs, annoyance simmering beneath the exhaustion, but before she can argue, a thought strikes her, sharp and sudden. “The girls.” Avery’s eyes go wide, pushing against the haze of medication clouding her mind. Her breath hitches, and she tries to sit up, wincing as immediate pain shoots through her body. “Are they—”

He's already speaking before she can finish, his hand firm on her arm, stopping her from moving. “They’re okay. All of them. They’re with social services, and Rojas has been checking on them.”

Avery slumps back against the pillows, a slow exhale slipping past her lips. The relief is instant, washing over her like a wave, soothing the ache in her chest. “Thank God,” she whispers, blinking hard to stop herself from crying at the sheer weight of it. After everything, after failing so many times, she finally found them.

He watches her, his thumb still moving against her skin, still keeping her here. “They were asking about you,” Jay tells her softly. “Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

She laughs, a small, tired sound, and shakes her head slightly. "Did you tell them that I'm way too stubborn to die?"

A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips, eyes shining with affection. "Something like that."

One of her hands moves, fingers gingerly tracing over the thick bandages beneath the hospital gown, feeling the stiffness, the bruising, the deep ache radiating from the wound that nearly killed her. Her jaw clenches, her chest tightening—not with pain, but with anger. Her voice is sharp when she asks, "What about Nik?" She sees it immediately—the shift in Jay’s posture, the way his jaw locks, the way his grip on her hand tightens ever so slightly.

He hesitates.

That hesitation is an answer all on its own, but she still needs to hear it. "Tell me," she demands, her voice steady despite the storm rising inside her.

Jay exhales slowly, dragging a hand through his hair before finally meeting her gaze. The moment stretches, unbearably heavy, before he finally says it, "They got away."

The relief from earlier is immediately drowned by rage. The words sink into her like ice water, sharp and unrelenting. Avery stares at him, blinking once, twice, as if she misheard. But she didn’t. The look on his face, the way his shoulders are wound tight with frustration and regret—it tells her everything. Her fingers curl into the sheets, gripping the fabric like a lifeline. Her voice is dangerously low, barely concealing the tremor beneath it, "You let him go?"

He flinches, barely, but she catches it. His throat works as he swallows hard. "It wasn’t a choice, Avery."

She doesn’t care. She doesn’t want to hear excuses.

"He was right there!" Her breath shudders as anger claws up her throat, bitter and burning. "You know what he did. You know what he’s going to do now. He’s probably halfway to Russia already!"

Jay runs a hand through his hair, his own anger flaring, but it's different. Quieter. He's not angry at her—he's angry at everything else. His voice is tight, restrained, but there’s fire beneath it, "You think I didn't want to go after that sick bastard after everything he did to you?"

"Could’ve fooled me," she scoffs, the words biting and cruel, slipping past her lips before she can stop them.

"You were bleeding out in my arms!" Jay snaps through grit teeth, eyes darkening as the memory washes over.

The words hit her like a physical force, the weight of them slamming into her chest. She freezes, breathing uneven as she watches him, watches him try to steady himself, try to keep his voice from breaking.

His fingers press against the bridge of his nose, and he exhales, long and slow, before looking at her again. When he speaks this time, his voice is quieter, but no less certain, "If I had gone after him, you would be dead, Avery." His eyes bore into hers, and it’s the truth, raw and unfiltered. "So it wasn’t even a choice. And I would do it again."

Avery swallows hard, the burn in her throat spreading behind her eyes. She can’t look away from him. Her body is wrecked, too weak to fight through the storm of emotions crashing into her all at once. The anger fizzles, leaving something raw in its wake. "I’m sorry," she whispers. The silence that follows is heavy. The weight of everything unsaid lingers between them.

Then, slowly, she tightens her fingers around his. It’s small, barely more than a squeeze, but it’s enough to make him look at her again. And when he does, she forces a ghost of a smile. "We need to stop finding each other bleeding out."

He huffs an unexpected laugh, rubbing a hand across his forehead. "That would be my preference." His voice is strained, but there’s something softer beneath it. A flicker of warmth, of relief. The moment sobers quickly. Jay lowers his hand, his gaze flickering over her, his lips pressing together. "You flatlined in the ambulance. Twice."

Her smile fades. Her mind drifts to the back of that ambulance, hazy flashes of sirens and voices and hands pressing down on her chest. She was out of it, barely there, but she remembers something. She knows she does. "You told me to fight," she mutters, her voice barely audible.

His head tilts, his brows drawing together. "You remember that?"

She nods, exhaustion settling back over her. "I remember hearing your voice. I remember feeling your hand in mine."

His throat bobs as he swallows. His grip on her hand tightens slightly, grounding himself in this moment, in her words, in the fact that she’s here. "Don’t you ever do that to me again," Jay says quietly, but there’s an edge to it—desperation, fear.

"I’ll do my best," Avery whispers, her lips quirking slightly.

He shakes his head. "I’m serious, Ave," his voice drops lower. "I can’t—I can’t lose you. Not again."

She exhales, slow and deep, and when she speaks, there’s no hesitation. "I’m right here."

Jay holds her gaze, and something in him seems to break—something that’s been locked up, held back for too long. "You are the love of my life," he says, the words slipping past his lips so easily. His voice is rough, weighted with conviction, with a truth that’s been buried under too much pain and too much time. "You always have been. Not a second has gone by where I’ve stopped loving you."

Her breath catches, vision blurring with unshed tears. Her stomach flips violently, her throat tightening, because even though she thinks she already knew, he’s never said it out loud like this. Not in years. Not in this way. And he doesn't look away. Doesn't hesitate. Doesn't take it back. He just sits there, holding her hand like it's the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground, like she's the only thing keeping him breathing.

Her throat tightens. Because this isn't just an I love you.

It's an I love you that's been there for years.

It's an I love you from five years ago, from the first time he kissed her in his apartment, from the way he looked at her like she was the best thing to ever happen to him.

It's an I love you from before the end, before the hurt, before the years of pain and distance and regret.

It's an I love you from when he thought he lost her forever.

It's an I love you that means everything.

"So you’re not allowed to leave me," Jay continues, voice shaking just slightly. "You hear me?"

Avery blinks, slow and deliberate, like she’s memorizing this moment, like she’s etching it into her bones. "I don’t plan on it," she manages, clearing the emotion from her throat.

He exhales, something breaking loose inside him. "Good," he says, his lips twitching into the smallest, most fragile smile.

She mirrors it, a teasing lilt to her tone, “Good.” Avery watches him, the exhaustion weighing heavy on his face, the relief bleeding into his expression now that she’s awake, here, with him. Then she licks her lips, fighting to keep her smile from overtaking completely. "Say it again."

Jay laughs softly, his fingers still laced through hers, still holding on like he’s afraid she’ll slip away again. Without thinking, without hesitating, he leans forward. His lips brush against her forehead first, soft and lingering, his breath warm against her skin. After a moment, he pulls back just enough for their eyes to meet, his own filled with something raw and fragile and unbreakable all at once. He shifts, leaning in again, this time pressing his lips against hers.

It’s slow, hesitant at first, like he’s savoring the moment, like he’s still half-afraid that if he pushes too hard, she’ll vanish. But Avery doesn’t pull away. Her fingers tighten around his, and she kisses him back, pouring everything she can’t say into it. She’s tired, her body weak and sore, but kissing him feels like the first real breath she’s taken since waking up.

"I love you," he mumbles against her lips, a promise he’s been dying to make since the second he saw her again.

Her hand cradles the back of his neck, fingers gently scratching his skin. Avery closes her eyes, exhaling a shaky, relieved laugh. “I love you,” she whispers back, pressing her lips against his again.

The door slides open with a soft swoosh.

He pulls back immediately, his movements quick, but his hand stays on hers for just a second longer before he glances toward the doorway. Avery follows his gaze, her heart still hammering, only to see Hank standing there, his expression unreadable.

Jay clears his throat, squeezing her hand one last time before releasing it and straightening, pressing a hand against his ribs. “I’ll, uh—I’ll give you two a minute,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck before taking a step toward the door. “I need to update the team anyway.”

As soon as the door clicks shut, the weight of the last forty-eight hours settles over Avery again. She exhales, closing her eyes for a beat, her fingers absently brushing over the bandages at her side.

Hank steps forward, pulling the chair Jay was using closer to the bed before settling into it with a quiet sigh. He doesn’t speak at first, just watches her, his face unreadable but his eyes soft.

She glances at him, arching a brow. “You’re staring.”

He lets out a familiar gruff exhale, one she’s heard a thousand times before, a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “Yeah, well, you flatlined three times. I get to stare.”

Avery swallows hard, her gaze flickering away, her fingers curling slightly against the sheets. She hates the thought of him sitting outside this room, waiting, worrying. She hates that he had to go through that. Again. She lets out a slow breath, her voice quiet. “I’m okay, Hank.”

His brows lift slightly, unimpressed. “Are you?”

She opens her mouth to argue, but the words die before they can form. Because truthfully, she doesn’t know how to answer that. She’s alive. She made it. But okay? That’s something else entirely, and she hasn’t been okay in a long time.

Hank sees it, sees the conflict on her face, and sighs. He leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees, clasping his hands together. “You know,” he says, his voice softer now, in a way that’s reserved just for her, “when they told me you were dead two years ago, I didn’t believe it. Not at first.” He shakes his head slightly, his gaze distant, like he’s remembering the moment. “I kept thinking… maybe it was a mistake. Maybe you’d walk through those doors, like you always did, acting like I was being overprotective.”

Avery swallows, something heavy pressing against her chest.

“But then the days passed. And the weeks. And the months.” He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face before looking back at her. “And I had to bury you next to Justin and Camille. Even if there wasn’t a body. I had to grieve you. And I don’t think I ever stopped being angry about it.”

She knows that anger. She’s seen it before, felt it before. And she know that pain. No matter how hard he tries to stay strong for his team, she can always see it. She knows how hard this is for him. Losing people has defined Hank’s life. Camille. Justin. Alvin.

And she almost became another name on that list. She was a name on that list.

Avery clears her throat, her voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t want to leave. Not like that.”

Hank shakes his head, “I know that now. But back then? It damn near killed me.” His jaw tightens, and he takes a deep breath before reaching forward, placing a hand over hers—warm, firm, steady. “But you came back.” His voice dips, rough with emotion, “And I am damn proud of you, kid.”

Her throat tightens, and she has to blink hard to keep the tears at bay. She doesn’t know what to say.

So instead, she tugs on his hand until he understands. Hank rises to his feet and in one heartbeat, he wraps his arms around her and pulls her into his chest.

And for the first time in days, she feels safe.

You met Jay Halstead through your brother. The first time you saw Paul after he joined the Army was at Fort Benning, where he was stationed while training for the Rangers. It was there that you met the soldiers that would be serving alongside your brother in the same unit and in particular, the two men that he had bonded with quickly, Jay and Greg. Well, Mouse, but you instantly made it clear that you wouldn’t be calling him that. Looking back, you could point to this moment as the day that changed your life forever. Now whenever you called your brother, you called Jay. Whenever you wrote to your brother, you wrote to Jay. You fell fast and hard, because nothing else really mattered when it came to love.

Something clicked with Jay the moment you saw him, and what is it they say? The rest is history?

Yeah, well… they suck.

I walked through the door with you The air was cold But something about it felt like home somehow And I, left my scarf there at your sister's house And you've still got it in your drawer even now Oh, your sweet disposition And my wide-eyed gaze We're singing in the car, getting lost upstate Autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place And I can picture it after all these days

You remember that day like it was frozen in time, tucked away in a corner of your mind you can’t quite bring yourself to forget. The air was crisp, the bite of late autumn settling into the city, but the way Jay looked at you made everything feel warm. It wasn’t just the weather. It was him—his presence, his laughter, the way he always knew exactly what to say to make you feel at ease.

You wring your fingers together, nervous energy running through your veins as you move up the short walkway. Your eyes linger on the front door of the small house, biting your bottom lip between your teeth. A warm touch encases your hands, tangling their fingers in yours and bringing both hands to hang between your bodies. You glance to the man at your side, a shaky smile tugging at your mouth at the reassuring one being sent your way. “Just breathe, Y/N,” he squeezes your hand in reassurance.

Before you can respond, the door swings open to reveal a man you’d only seen in photos with a huge grin on his face. He doesn’t even acknowledge you before he pulls your boyfriend into a tight hug, forcing you to let go of his hand. But you don’t mind, your face softening as you watch the sweet embrace between brothers.

His parent’s house is warm when you step inside, the scent of cinnamon lingering from a candle on the mantle. You laugh when Will finally greets you with an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head as he gestures to the scarf you’ve unwound from your neck.

“She’s making herself at home,” Will teases, nudging Jay. “You sure you’re ready for that?”

Jay smirks, eyes flicking to yours before he shrugs. “I don’t mind.”

You don’t think twice when you drape the scarf over the back of a chair, your mind already distracted by the way Jay’s hand brushes against yours as he leads you into the kitchen. It’s just a scarf. Just an evening spent in the comfortable warmth of the Halstead house, where Jay fits so easily into the space that it feels like you belong there too.

Later, when the night stretches long and you’re curled in the passenger seat of his truck, Jay drives back to your place. The radio hums softly, but it’s your voices that fill the silence, singing along to songs neither of you know all the words to. His fingers drum against the steering wheel, his head tilting toward you as he grins, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“You’re terrible at this,” he teases when you fumble a lyric.

“So are you,” you shoot back, nudging his arm.

But he doesn’t argue, just chuckles, shaking his head as he turns onto a quiet road lined with trees burning red and gold in the glow of the headlights. The leaves scatter in the wind, tumbling in slow spirals, and for a moment, you think—this is it. This is what it’s supposed to feel like. Like every piece is settling exactly where it’s meant to.

It’s been years since that night. You tell yourself it’s just a scarf. But deep down, you wonder. You wonder if somehow, he still has it. After moving in together, you’d gotten it back. But then he was gone, and so was your scarf.

You know how stupid that sounds, even when your mind drifts back to that night.

Because now you know how even the smallest moments can become ghosts

And I know it's long gone and that magic's not here no more And I might be okay but I'm not fine at all 'Cause there we are again on that little town street You almost ran the red 'cause you were lookin' over at me Wind in my hair, I was there I remember it all too well

Time has moved forward, dragging you with it, even when you weren’t ready to let go. The laughter, the warmth, the way Jay’s presence once felt like home—it’s all faded into something distant, something that lingers only in memories. You tell yourself you’ve healed, that you’ve learned to live with the absence of what once was.

Some days, you even believe it.

But then there are nights when the weight of it all creeps in—when the silence feels too loud, when the city feels too empty, when the spaces he used to fill feel hollow in a way you can’t explain. You might be okay. You go through the motions. You breathe. You exist.

But you’re not fine. Not at all.

It plays in your mind like an old film reel, flickering and faded but still vivid enough to make your chest ache.

The two of you drive through a small town just outside the city, windows down despite the chill in the air as you head towards Wisconsin. The streets are quiet, the kind of place where time seemed to slow, where the rest of the world felt like it didn’t exist. The glow of the traffic light ahead shifts from green to yellow, but he isn’t watching the road.

He’s watching you.

The corner of his mouth curves, that boyish smirk that makes your stomach flip, and his eyes flick to you like you’re the only thing worth looking at.

“Jay,” you laugh, the warning in your voice light, teasing.

He grins, but his foot hesitates on the brake, and for a split second, the world slows. The light flicks to red just as he presses down, the truck jerking slightly before settling. His fingers tighten around the wheel, a breathless chuckle escaping him as he shakes his head.

“Guess I should watch the road,” he says, exhaling like he’s trying to pull himself back to reality.

But he’s still smiling, and you’re still looking at him.

Falling for him.

You can still feel it—the wind whipping through your hair, the way your heart pounded as you looked at him, the way he made you feel like the most important thing in the world.

You were there. You lived it. And it should’ve been enough to make it last.

But magic never stays, does it? It fades in pieces, slipping through your fingers before you even realize it’s gone. Now, standing on a Chicago sidewalk with the cold biting at your skin, you tell yourself you’re okay.

Even though it’s a lie.

Photo album on the counter Your cheeks were turning red You used to be a little kid with glasses in a twin-sized bed And your mother's telling stories 'bout you on the tee-ball team You told me 'bout your past thinking your future was me

You can still picture that night.

The house is warm, the kind of warmth that settles in your chest, that makes you feel like you belong even when you’re still finding your place. The scent of something faintly sweet lingers in the air—cinnamon, maybe, or vanilla—something Jay’s mom had been baking earlier, despite how exhausted it made her now.

You sit on the couch, flipping through an old photo album, your fingers tracing the edges of glossy pictures that have softened with age.

Jay is settled beside you, his shoulder brushing yours, cheeks tinged red as you stifle a laugh at the sight of him—a little kid, freckle-faced, messy-haired, grinning wide behind thick-rimmed glasses and dwarfed by an oversized tee-ball jersey.

“Oh, this is gold,” you tease, tilting the album so he can’t close it. “You were adorable.”

“Okay, let’s not get carried away,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck, but he’s smiling.

His mom, catching the moment, jumps in without hesitation. “Jay was the fastest runner on the team,” she says from the bed that’s set up in the living room, eyes bright with nostalgia. The day has clearly taken its toll on her, but she tries hard not to let it show. “Didn’t have the best aim, but if he made contact with the ball, he was already halfway to first base before the other kids knew what hit them.”

You glance at him, raising a brow. “That true, Halstead?”

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal, but there’s a flicker of something boyish in his expression, like he’s being pulled back into the memory. “She’s exaggerating,” he says, but his mom huffs.

“I am not.” She grins at you tiredly, adjusting the scarf covering her head. “Will was the one who hit home runs. Jay just ran like his life depended on it.”

You laugh, turning back to the photo album, your fingers brushing over a picture of him, small and determined, gripping a bat too big for his hands. “Explains a lot,” you murmur.

Jay watches you, something softer settling in his gaze.

Later, after dinner, after watching him with a sad smile as he takes care of his mother, you sit with him in the quiet of his childhood bedroom. The twin-sized bed is still there, though it looks smaller now, tucked in the corner like a piece of a life he outgrew but never truly left behind.

“You know, you’re the first girl who’s been up here,” he teases, voice quieter than before.

You huff a laugh, tilting your head, “Yeah right.”

“It’s true,” he chuckles. “My dad would’ve killed me.”

You roll your eyes. “You had girlfriends.”

“And we just hung out at their houses,” he explains, eyes sparkling as you laugh. Then he quickly sobers, reaching out and holding your hand. “Thank you for today. My mom really loves you.”

“Any time,” you smile gently, squeezing his fingers. “I know how hard this has been on you without Will or your dad helping out much.”

Jay nods, glancing at his lap for a moment. He scoots closer on the bed until his leg brushes yours. Meeting your eyes, he lifts a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I love you,” he says softly.

Your breath hitches in your throat. You swallow, trying to steady the way your heart trips over itself, but then he’s tightening his grip on your fingers and leaning forward, nose brushing against yours.

All night, as it was just the two of you tangled together on his too-small bed, he told you things he never told anyone else. About growing up in a house that wasn’t always easy to be in. About watching his dad drink too much, yell too loud. About enlisting, about wanting to be more than what he came from.

And for a moment, you swore you saw it—the way he looked at you like you were his future. Like you were everything.

That moment still lingers in your mind, even now.

Even though you know how the story ends.

And I know it's long gone and there was nothing else I could do And I forget about you long enough to forget why I needed to 'Cause there we are again in the middle of the night We're dancing 'round the kitchen in the refrigerator light Down the stairs, I was there I remember it all too well, yeah

You tell yourself there was nothing you could have done differently. That it was out of your hands. That some things are destined to slip through your fingers no matter how tightly you try to hold on. But knowing that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

You’ve spent months convincing yourself to move on, to let the memories fade, to stop retracing the steps that led you here. And for a while, you almost succeed.

Almost.

It’s the middle of the night, and the apartment is quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and the rain tapping against the window. You’re barefoot in the kitchen, wearing his hoodie, the sleeves bunched around your fingers as you rub the sleep from your eyes. Jay stands across from you, his hair a mess, sweatpants hanging low on his hips as he sifts through the fridge.

“You’re not seriously eating at—” you squint at the clock, “—three in the morning.”

He hesitates before he shrugs casually, pulling out a container of leftover takeout. “I was hungry.”

You don’t think much of it. You just shake your head, amused, watching as he sets the food on the counter and flicks the lid open. The glow from the fridge casts long shadows across his face, softening the sharp lines, making him look younger, sleepier. More like the person he used to be, the one who smiled at you for the first time at Fort Benning, the one who hadn’t yet seen the horrors that could exist in this world.

Jay feels your eyes on him, studying him. Then he catches your gaze, the corners of his lips ticking up. “Dance with me.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re delirious.”

“Maybe,” he admits, stepping closer. “Come on.”

Before you can protest, his hands find your waist, warm and sure, and he tugs you toward him. You laugh, arms looping around his neck as he sways you both in lazy circles, the cool tile beneath your feet contrasting the heat of his body against yours.

“This isn’t dancing,” you point out, voice teasing.

“Agree to disagree,” he counters, grinning.

And maybe it’s the exhaustion or the way his breath tickles your skin, but you melt into him. There is no music, no reason, no rush. Just the quiet hum of the fridge, the city beyond the windows, and the way he holds you—like you are something fragile, something he doesn’t want to let go of.

And in this moment, you let yourself believe he never would.

Now, standing alone in your own kitchen, bathed in the same dim refrigerator light, you tell yourself you’ve moved on.

You forget about him long enough to forget why you needed to.

And maybe we got lost in translation Maybe I asked for too much But maybe this thing was a masterpiece 'til you tore it all up Running scared, I was there I remember it all too well And you call me up again just to break me like a promise So casually cruel in the name of being honest I'm a crumpled up piece of paper lying here 'Cause I remember it all, all, all too well

You don’t remember when the distance started to creep in. Maybe it was gradual—so slow that you didn’t notice it until it was too late. Or maybe it happened all at once, like a door slamming shut in a house that used to feel like home.

You tried to reach him. You tried to understand, the way you did with your brother. But war had changed him. Loss had changed him. And maybe, without meaning to, you had asked for more than he was ready to give.

There were moments—small, fleeting moments—where you could still see it. The life you had built together. The love you had poured into every touch, every late-night conversation, every whispered promise.

But he was slipping. Pulling away, piece by piece, until all you were left with was fragments of something that once felt whole.

You fought for him. You fought for this. But no matter how hard you tried, he wouldn’t let you in. And one day, he just stopped trying.

You remember the night it all came crashing down.

The argument starts over something small—something stupid. But underneath it, buried beneath every sharp word, is something much bigger. He is unraveling, and you can see it.

“Jay, you’re not okay,” you say, your voice quieter than before, softer, because anger isn’t going to reach him.

“I never said I was,” he shoots back, running a hand over his face, exhausted, fraying at the edges.

“Then let me help,” you plead. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

But his walls are too high. His grief too deep. And maybe, in some way, he thinks pushing you away would hurt less than letting you stay. So, he does. He doesn’t come back to the apartment, doesn’t answer your calls or texts.

You thought it was temporary, that he just needs time. That thought comes crashing down when you come home from work to find him packing his bags.

“What are you doing?” you ask—no, demand.

He doesn’t even look up, just continues shoving the last of his clothes into his duffel bag. “I can’t do this anymore,” he finally says lowly. Controlled. Detached.

Like he hadn’t once danced with you in the kitchen at midnight. Like he hadn’t held your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he hadn’t loved you.

You knew he thought he was doing the right thing. That he was protecting you. But the truth didn’t feel like mercy. It felt like a knife to the chest.

The weight of it pressed down on you long after the door closed. You sank to the floor, knees hitting the hardwood, and it didn’t even feel real. You wanted to scream, to throw the framed photos of the two of you across the room, to forget every late-night conversation, every touch, every look, every promise that once felt unbreakable.

But instead, you just sat there.

And you still think about it.

Time won't fly, it's like I'm paralyzed by it I'd like to be my old self again But I'm still trying to find it After plaid shirt days and nights when you made me your own Now you mail back my things and I walk home alone But you keep my old scarf from that very first week 'Cause it reminds you of innocence And it smells like me You can't get rid of it 'Cause you remember it all too well, yeah

People tell you that time heals everything. That one day, it won’t hurt as much. That you’ll wake up and find the weight in your chest has disappeared. But they don’t tell you that time can also freeze you in place. That some memories are so deeply etched into you that no amount of days, weeks, or months can erase them.

You keep moving because you have to. You go to work, you smile at the right moments, you make coffee in the mornings like everything is fine. But beneath it all, you’re still searching—trying to find the version of yourself that existed before him.

Before his silence became a wall you couldn’t break down. Before the love between you turned into something too heavy to hold. Before loss carved through both of you.

But no matter how far you run, you still feel like a ghost of the person you used to be.

The small box arrives on a Tuesday.

You aren’t expecting it, but the moment you see his handwriting on the label, your breath catches in your throat. You don’t open it right away. You just stare at it for a long time, fingers tracing the edges. You hesitate before opening it, hands shaking.

Inside, nestled carefully in tissue paper, is the necklace. The one he gave you, the one that had belonged to his mother. You had sent it to his father’s house with the rest of his things, thinking it was the right thing to do. Thinking that letting go meant returning everything that had ever belonged to him.

But he didn’t want it back.

You pick it up carefully, letting the chain slide through your fingers. The pendant is warm from the way it was wrapped, as if it had been held, as if he had debated sending it at all. A folded note sits beneath it, only one line written in his slanted scrawl.

It was always meant to be yours.

Your throat tightens. Because even after everything, even after all the pain and distance and silence—he still wants you to have this piece of him.

And maybe that means something.

Or maybe it doesn’t.

Your fingers drift toward your neck, playing with the small pendant you still wear. You tried not to, tried to keep it tucked away in a drawer.

Because maybe it did mean something.

'Cause there we are again when I loved you so Back before you lost the one real thing you've ever known It was rare, I was there, I remember it all too well Wind in my hair, you were there, you remember it all Down the stairs, you were there, you remember it all

You don’t let yourself think about it too often.

Not the way it felt to love him. Not the way it felt to be loved by him.

But sometimes—when the air turns crisp and autumn settles over the city—you close your eyes, and suddenly, you’re there again.

Remembering the way your heart ached in the best possible way when he smiled at you like you were his whole world. How his touch was never hesitant, never unsure. How, even in his quietest moments, he had a way of making you feel safe.

There was no doubt then. No fear of the future, no heavy weight of grief between you. It was just the two of you, wrapped in something real, something rare.

But then he changed. You still don’t know what hurt more—the fact that you couldn’t save him from the wreckage inside his own head, or the fact that he wouldn’t let you try. Because you were the one real thing he had. The one thing he had chosen, outside of war, outside of duty. And still, he let you go.

Or maybe, you think bitterly, he didn’t let you go at all. Maybe he lost you, the same way he lost himself. You try to convince yourself it was just another love story that didn’t work out. That people grow, people change, people leave. That this wasn’t different.

But then you think about the last time you saw him, the way he looked at you.

And you know it was.

It wasn’t long after everything between you had fallen apart—barely enough time for the wounds to scab over, let alone heal. And then, just like that, your world shatters all over again.

Your brother is gone. The kind of gone that didn’t come with second chances. The kind that didn’t leave room for goodbyes.

You didn’t expect Jay to be there. Maybe you should have, but you knew how upset he was when Paul decided to extend his tour. How he stopped talking to him, stopped talking to you about him.

But there he is. Standing beside Greg, his uniform crisp, his posture rigid, but his face—his face is wrecked. Your brother had been more than just a friend. He had been family. And now he is never coming back, and all that is left is an American flag covering a coffin.

The funeral passes in a haze of condolences and tears, of words that didn’t mean anything because none of them could bring him back.

But then Jay’s eyes meet yours across the gravesite.

Grief sits heavy in his gaze, dark and endless, mirroring your own.

For a brief second, the world around you blurs, and it is just the two of you, standing in the wreckage of something you once believed was unbreakable.

And then he looks away.

In that moment, you knew that what you had was the kind of love that didn’t come around twice.

If you close your eyes, you can still feel it—the wind tangling through your hair as Jay drove with one hand on the wheel, the other draped over your knee, absentmindedly tracing circles against your skin.

But that was also the moment you realized there was nothing left to salvage.

It’s been six months since you lost Paul.

Long enough that you’ve learned how to carry the weight of what happened, how to breathe around the ache of it. Some days, the memories sneak up on you—sharp, vivid, refusing to fade. Other days, they feel like a dream, like something that happened to a different version of you, a girl who still believed in forever.

Sometimes, when you think about your brother, you go through old photos, desperate to keep his memory alive. And inevitably, you come across photos of Jay, and you wonder if he ever thinks about you.

If he remembers the quiet moments, the ones that didn’t feel important at the time but somehow hold the most weight now. Like the nights when he would come home late, exhausted but pulling you into him anyway, pressing a tired kiss to your temple as you mumbled something half-asleep. Or the way he used to pull you back when you tried to leave in the mornings, wrapping his arms around you and murmuring, “Five more minutes.”

He was there too. He lived it, just the same as you did.

But life goes on.

You sigh, shoving your hands into your pockets as you walk, the cool Chicago air biting at your skin. The streetlights flicker, casting long shadows across the pavement, and you tell yourself you’re fine. That you’re whole again.

And then you see him—standing at the bottom of your apartment steps, hands in his jacket pockets, shoulders hunched like he’s been waiting a while. Like he wasn’t sure he’d be welcome, but he came anyway.

Your breath catches, your feet stopping before your mind can catch up.

Jay lifts his head, and the second your eyes meet, you see it—all of it. The weight of the time lost, the regret, the memories he’s carried just as much as you have.

You swallow hard, but your voice still comes out unsteady. “What are you doing here?”

He exhales, stepping closer. Carefully. Like he’s afraid one wrong move will make you disappear. “I was stupid,” Jay says, voice low, rough around the edges. “I let the best thing that ever happened to me walk away.”

You shake your head, a bitter laugh slipping out. “Jay—”

“I remember it,” he interrupts, his green eyes never leaving yours. “I remember all of it. Every second. Every goddamn moment I should’ve fought harder for you.” His jaw tightens. “And if I could go back—if I could undo all of it, I would.”

“You don’t get to do this.” Your chest tightens, fingers curling into fists. “You don’t get to show up now and—”

“I do,” he says, stepping closer. “Because you, what we had—it was rare. And I didn’t just let it go. I threw it away. But if there’s even a chance—” His voice breaks slightly, but he keeps going. “If there’s even the smallest chance that you still feel it too… then I’m not walking away this time.”

The wind picks up, sweeping between you, rustling your hair, his jacket, your heartbeat. You should tell him no. You should turn around, go upstairs, close the door on this chapter once and for all. Instead, you study him carefully. “Why should I believe that it’ll be different this time?”

Jay glances at the ground, and you can tell this is hard for him. But he’s trying.

“I didn’t know how to fix things back then,” he continues, voice rough but steady. “I didn’t know how to let you help me. And I know I can’t take back the way I hurt you, but—” He swallows hard, like the words are difficult to get out. “I never stopped loving you.”

Tears sting at your eyes. You don’t move, don’t breathe, don’t trust yourself to believe this is real.

But then—then, he reaches into his pocket and pulls something out.

Your scarf.

He lets out a quiet, almost breathless laugh, shaking his head. “I guess I should’ve given this back a long time ago.”

You stare at the worn fabric in his hands, at the way he holds it carefully, like it’s still a piece of you. And something inside you cracks wide open.

Because this is Jay. Your Jay.

The one who held you through cold nights. The one who once danced with you in the kitchen under the glow of the refrigerator light.

The one who left—but who came back.

You take a step forward, reaching for him the way you’ve wanted to for so long. His breath stutters when your fingers brush over his, but he doesn’t pull away.

Neither do you.

It was rare, I was there, I remember it all too well

And now—now, after everything—

You get to write a new ending.

Jay hears two gunshots—a sharp, deafening crack that shatters the silence, reverberating through the halls like a death knell.

His heart stops.

And then—he’s moving.

The moment his body lurches forward, his ribs protest violently, pain spiking through his torso, but he doesn’t care. His mind is a singular focus, a desperate, all-consuming need—find Avery. He makes it three steps before reality slams into him. The girls. He turns sharply, his eyes locking on the group huddled in the corner. He used a broken metal bar to break the locks, gathering them together so he could protect them easier.

Jay curses, his pulse thudding in his ears. He promised them he wouldn’t leave. He takes a steadying breath and kneels in front of the girl who looks the oldest, leveling his gaze with hers. She flinches slightly, but he softens his voice. “I need to go after the woman who was with me, okay?” He grabs her hands, placing his gun into them. “Take this. Keep it pointed at the door. If any of those men come in here—” he places her trembling fingers over the trigger, “You pull this.”

She shakes her head quickly, panic rising in her chest as she tries to push the gun back into his hands.

“Hey, look at me.” His voice is firm, but not unkind, his green eyes locking onto hers. “I need you to do this. Can you do this?” Her breath is shaky, her fingers flexing uncertainly around the gun. She pauses for a beat, then, finally gives a slow nod, chin setting with determination.

Jay nods back once, then grabs the metal pipe he’d used earlier and bolts out the door. Every step sends bolts of pain through his battered body. His breath is sharp, ragged, but his mind refuses to focus on it. The hallways blur past him, a dark tunnel closing in, the familiar, suffocating taste of dread thick in his throat.

And then he sees her. His entire world tilts, and he nearly collapses at the sight.

Avery is on the ground, her hand pressed weakly to her side, blood seeping through her fingers, a dark crimson trail leading from the doorway like a silent cry for help.

His lungs squeeze too tight, his stomach twisting violently. “Avery!” Jay calls out, his entire body screaming as he rushes forward. The metal pipe clatters to the floor as he drops to his knees beside her. His hands move on their own, frantic, shaking, desperate, pressing down hard against the wound. Avery lets out a pained whimper, her head rolling slightly, barely holding onto consciousness.

“Shit, shit—stay with me, Ave—” His hands are covered in her blood, warm and unrelenting, pooling between his fingers, slipping through the cracks no matter how hard he presses down. He feels it—helplessness clawing at his throat, tearing into his ribs. He can’t lose her. Not again.

Then—movement.

Jay’s head snaps up, jaw clenched so tight his teeth grind together as he glances over his shoulder. Nikolai is standing at the end of the hall, blood coating his hands. His fingers twitch against the wound, torn between his need for revenge and his need to save her. He could go after him. He could end this right now, he could at least try.

But then Avery shudders beneath him, another weak, pained breath slipping past her lips.

His throat tightens. And in that moment, Jay makes a choice. He forces himself to look away, forces himself to focus on what matters most—keeping her alive.

Her lashes flutter weakly, but when she sees him, Avery forces a small, pained smile. "Hey," she breathes, her voice raspy and thin.

It wrecks him. Jay swallows hard, his bottom lip trembling as he presses down harder, trying to staunch the flow. But there’s so much blood. “Look at me,” his voice wavers, but he forces it steady, forces himself to be strong for her. His hand moves up instinctively, cupping her cold, clammy cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin in soft, desperate circles. “You’re okay. I got you.”

Her lips part, a shaky breath escaping, “It’s just a scratch.”

A half-laugh, half-sob rips from his chest, his head lowering for a brief second, his forehead nearly pressing against hers. Then her eyes start to close. His fingers tighten on her face, shaking her lightly, “No, no, no—don’t you dare close your eyes.”

Her fingers twitch, grasping weakly for his hand. Jay catches it instantly, threading their fingers together tightly, refusing to let go. “Come on, baby, just stay awake for me, okay?” His voice is thick, his knuckles white from how tight he’s gripping her hand.

Her breathing is shallow, her body too still.

And then—

Adam kicks the door in. The door splinters under his boot, the impact echoing through the concrete halls. They move in fast, a well-oiled machine, weapons raised, scanning every corner, every shadow—ready to take the first son of a bitch who gets in their way down.

But Hailey freezes. Her finger tightens on the trigger before she even registers why, her pulse spiking as her eyes land on the terrified teenage girl pointing an automatic weapon directly at her. Her heart lodges in her throat. "Don't shoot! It’s okay, we’re the police!" she calls out, her voice steady despite the ice in her veins.

The girl’s hands shake, her breath ragged, the barrel of the gun wavering as if she doesn’t quite believe her. Hailey slowly lowers her weapon first. “We’re here to help you,” she says again, calmer this time, nodding softly, encouragingly.

The girl’s lips tremble, knees wobbling. Then she sobs, the gun clattering to the floor as she lunges into Hailey’s arms, breaking down against her chest. Hailey catches her, arms wrapping tight, grounding her, whispering quiet reassurances.

Kevin notices the broken locks on all the other cages and asks, “Was there someone else here?”

“Talia,” another girl speaks up, pointing toward the hallway, “They went that way.”

Hailey and Adam exchange a quick glance, and without another thought, they move.

They find them seconds later.

Jay on his knees, blood everywhere, Avery half-conscious beneath him. He lifts his head at the sound of boots pounding toward them before his shoulders sag in relief, but he doesn’t move from her side.

Hailey sucks in a sharp breath, her chest clenching painfully at the sight.

“We need medics in here!” Adam yells into his radio, his voice urgent as he rushes over. “Now!”

Jay barely registers them, barely notices as Adam’s hands replace his on her stomach. His entire world is her. Avery’s breathing is too shallow, her body too still, her skin too damn pale beneath the flickering overhead light. His fingers tighten around hers and his other hand frames her face, tilting it toward him. “Ave,” his voice cracks as he gently slaps her cheek. Nothing.

"Jay.”

He doesn’t respond, panic overtaking everything. “Baby, open your eyes,” he pleads, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone, smearing warm blood across her skin.

"Jay," Hailey repeats, firmer this time, and suddenly she’s right there, kneeling beside him. Her hands hover, unsure if she should touch him, if she should break whatever fragile connection is keeping him together.

Jay finally blinks, dragging his gaze away from Avery just long enough to see Hailey watching him. He can see the fear in her eyes as they rake over him. He glances down, realizing how awful he must look right now. He’s covered in blood, a mixture of Avery’s and his own. It’s soaked into his shirt, seeping from his ribs, from cuts along his temple and cheek, the bruises already darkening across his jaw.

"You're hurt," she says, her tone controlled, but her eyes flash with something dangerously close to panic.

But he doesn’t care. Jay shakes his head once, curt and dismissive. "Not important."

Hailey’s jaw tightens, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Like hell it’s not." She reaches out, pressing a hand against his side, and the moment she does—

Pain explodes through his ribs. Jay flinches sharply, his body locking up instinctively as a strangled grunt escapes through his teeth.

Hailey catches the reaction instantly, her expression hardening. "Jesus, Jay," she mutters, already shifting, already moving to force him to lay back too.

He shakes his head again, ignoring the searing pain. "I said I’m fine,” he snaps, even as he is barely able to keep himself upright.

Hailey exhales sharply, frustrated, but beneath is pure fear. Because Jay Halstead has always put himself second. Always. And no matter how much pain he’s in, no matter how bad he looks, no matter how much blood he’s losing, he’s not going to focus on himself. Not when it’s Avery. Not when it’s her bleeding out, her life on the line.

And that’s the part that hurts the most. Because he’s never looked at anyone the way he looks at Avery. Like losing her might actually destroy him. Hailey swallows hard, shoving down whatever she’s feeling, forcing herself to focus. This isn’t about her.

“Medics are almost here,” she says instead, softer now as she watches him closely. “You need to let them check you out too.”

Jay doesn’t even acknowledge her words. His entire body is coiled with tension, every muscle locked tight, every ounce of focus still on Avery.

“Come on, Ave,” Adam says, increasing the pressure. When a groan slips past her lips, it’s like music to his ears. Because it means that she is alive. “Thought you promised you wouldn’t pull this shit again.”

Avery opens her eyes, barely, and lets out a weak breath, her voice raspy but laced with stubbornness. “Sorry me getting stabbed is such an inconvenience to you, Ruz,” she grumbles.

Adam huffs out a laugh, shaking his head before looking over his shoulder.

Voight stomps toward them, his face set in stone, paramedics trailing behind. The second he lays eyes on her, his composure slips. It fractures just slightly, just enough. And then he pulls himself together as quickly as he fell apart. "Move!" he barks, his voice dangerously close to breaking.

Adam reluctantly shifts back, letting the medics step in.

But Jay doesn’t move. Doesn’t let go.

“Halstead, move.”

Jay shakes his head without looking up, fingers ghosting over her cheek. Avery groans as the medics press gauze against her wound and set up an IV. “I’m right here, Ave,” he whispers, his lips against her forehead.

A hand clamps down on his shoulder. “Jay,” Hank’s voice is still gruff, but softer this time.

He squeezes his eyes shut, his jaw tight.

“Let them do their jobs.”

And only then—only when his entire body is trembling from exhaustion, from pain, from the weight of it all—does Jay let go of her hand. He falls back as Voight moves him aside, his blood-stained hands still shaking.

The paramedics work fast, moving with precision, their voices clipped and urgent as they assess the damage. Jay barely registers the words they’re saying—his ears are ringing, his pulse hammering against his skull, his entire world narrowed to her.

It doesn’t take long until she’s on a gurney being wheeled out of the building, the cold night air hitting him hard. When they get to the ambulance, his feet move before his brain even catches up, shrugging away from Atwater’s supportive hold. "I’m coming with," he says immediately, trying to follow.

One of the medics stops him, blocking his path. "Sir, you can follow behi—"

Jay glares, clutching at his ribs. "I'm not leaving her." The sheer force of his voice—low, sharp, desperate—makes the medic hesitate.

Then Voight’s voice cuts through. "Let him go."

He doesn’t look back—doesn’t acknowledge the way the rest of the team stands there, watching, frozen—doesn’t think about anything other than getting into that goddamn ambulance and holding onto her.

The ambulance lurches forward, the wail of sirens piercing through the otherwise silent night. Jay grabs her hand immediately, his fingers threading through hers, gripping tightly around the IV. Her skin is so cold. Her eyelashes flutter, the smallest, faintest movement.

Jay leans in immediately, his heart slamming against his ribs, his fingers brushing over her cheek. "Hey, baby," he breathes, his voice rough as he’s barely able to force out the words. "You're going to be fine."

Avery blinks sluggishly, her lips parting behind the oxygen mask, her hand twitching against his palm. She lifts her other hand slowly, her fingers struggling as she tries to pull the mask down.

"Ma’am, you really shouldn't do that," the paramedic warns, adjusting dials and checking her vitals.

She ignores him. She’s stubborn as hell, even now.

Jay catches her wrist, his grip gentle but firm, shaking his head. “Keep the mask on.” Avery’s eyes narrow, a familiar glare flickering through the haze of exhaustion. He huffs out a breath, a small, almost broken laugh, “Don’t give me that look.”

Her fingers twitch weakly, barely curling around his hand, but she tries. Tries to hold on to him, tries to focus on him.

“Ave, listen to me.” Jay leans closer, his voice breaking slightly, “You’re the strongest person I know, okay? You fight, like you always do.”

Avery blinks at him, the faintest smile tugging at her lips behind the mask.

And her eyes roll back.

The paramedic’s voice cuts through the fog, sharp and urgent, “Pressure’s dropping!” His hands move fast, prepping another dose of medication.

Jay doesn’t realize he’s shaking until his fingers clench tighter around Avery’s, like if he physically anchors her here, she won’t slip away. "Hey, no!" His voice rips out of him, raw and frantic, "You don’t get to leave me again."

The machines beep louder, the flashing numbers dropping too fast.

“Drive faster,” the medic yells at his partner, who steps on the gas. “I need to intubate!”

The words slam into him, like a wrecking ball, like a bullet to the ribs, like the universe is trying to take her away from him all over again. "No, no, no—Avery, look at me!"

She doesn’t.

Jay watches—helpless, paralyzed, breaking apart from the inside out—as the paramedic tilts her head back, hands moving fast, forcing a tube down her throat.

This cannot be real. This cannot be real. This cannot be real.

His fingers dig into the gurney, nails biting into metal as he grits his teeth, his whole body strung so tight it feels like something inside him is going to snap.

"I love you."

The words tear out of him, raw and unfiltered, desperate and aching. His chest is tight, his vision blurred, his entire world narrowing down to her. To the weight of her hand in his, to the sound of the monitors that are still fucking dropping. Jay’s voice shakes, but his grip doesn’t falter. "I love you, and I’m not losing you again, okay? I won’t survive it."

Then the medic is cutting her clothes off, and Jay is forced to let go of her hand.

“Clear!”

Jay drags a hand across his jaw, watching helplessly as the medic shocks her chest.

Avery’s body jumps. Nothing.

The second the ambulance screeches to a stop outside Med, the doors are yanked open, and Avery is rushed out on the stretcher, a whirlwind of voices, medical orders, flashing lights.

Jay moves to follow despite the way his body protests, his grip still locked on her hand.

"She coded en route,” the paramedic explains, hand squeezing the Ambu bag. “I shocked her twice, but she’s got a rhythm.”

His feet hit the pavement, his entire world zeroed in on Avery, on the lifeless way she’s lying on that stretcher, on the way her fingers are slipping from his. He follows the stretcher through the ED, his lungs burning, his legs barely keeping up, but he doesn’t stop. Doctors and nurses swarm them, a sea of blue scrubs and white coats, but Jay only sees her.

Avery is too pale, too still, and the flatline still echoes in his ears.

He’s stopped when someone grabs his arm.

“Jay—" It’s Hailey, her grip firm, her eyes wide with concern. “You have to let them work.”

He yanks away, voice trembling with worry, pain, anger. “Get off me, Hailey.”

But she doesn’t back down. “Jay, you’re hurt, too—”

“I don’t care.” His chest is heaving, his blood-stained hands shaking. He’s only ever felt this kind of fear once before, this kind of suffocating, all-consuming terror.

Doctor Marcel takes over, barking orders as the stretcher disappears into a trauma bay before he can follow.

Maggie steps in front of him, blocking his path, eyes filled with sympathy. “You can’t be in here.”

His jaw clenches, his entire body locking up. “I’m not leaving her.” His pulse roars in his ears, his breath shaky and uneven, his body still screaming at him to move, to chase after Avery, to not let her out of his sight. He tries to move around Maggie, to catch a glimpse of anything through the drapes covering the glass.

A firm hand presses against his chest, stopping him cold.

"Jay!"

His brother’s voice cuts through the chaos, but Jay barely hears him, barely registers anything except the fact that Avery is slipping further away.

Will steps in front of him, brows furrowed, his eyes flashing with concern as he takes him in. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, already reaching for him, but Jay jerks away.

“I’m fine,” his voice is hoarse, frantic, desperate. He gestures wildly toward the trauma bay. “She’s coding, Will—”

Will nods sharply. “Crockett’s got her, but you need to come with me.”

He shakes his head immediately, his jaw locking, “No, I’m not—"

"Jay, you’re bleeding."

The pain he’s been biting back, fighting through, crashes over him at the words and steals the breath from his lungs. But it doesn’t matter. Not when she’s in there, without him. He tries to move again, but Will holds him back. Jay struggles for a moment before shoving him off with a grunt. "Will, I swear to God—"

Will sees it in his face, sees the fight, the panic, the refusal to do anything but stand right here and wait for Avery. He doesn’t have time for this, so he does the only thing that will work. He grabs his brother’s shoulders and looks him dead in the eye. “You can barely stand and if you pass out from internal bleeding, you won’t be here when she wakes up.”

His entire body tenses. And that’s it. That’s what gets him. Jay exhales, the fight bleeding out of him, and finally—finally—he nods once. Will takes his arm, leading him toward an exam room. He glances back over his shoulder, just once, at the trauma bay, fighting the urge to turn back.

It doesn’t take long for Will to force him onto an exam bed.

Jay hisses in pain as Will presses against his ribs, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. His hands clench into tight fists, his entire body rigid.

Will exhales through his nose, trying to be patient, but he can already tell that Jay isn’t going to sit still for this. “Were you in a car accident?” he asks, recognizing the injury pattern. When his brother just grunts with a stiff nod, he sighs. “You have at least two, maybe three cracked ribs,” Will continues, his voice steady, clinical. “I’ll order a set of x-rays. You need to take it easy.”

Jay lets out a dry, humorless laugh. “Yeah, not happening.”

He grits his teeth, frustration creeping in. “You’re not gonna be able to do anything for her if you collapse in the hallway, Jay.”

Jay shakes his head, already moving to stand. But the second he does, another sharp, blinding pain tears through his ribs, and he staggers, catching himself on the edge of the bed. The adrenaline is finally wearing off, no longer disguising the agony as a dull ache.

He curses under his breath, hands flying out to steady him. “Jesus, Jay—sit down!”

Jay does, but only because he has no choice. His body won’t let him fight anymore.

Will watches him carefully, his anger fading into something else. Something deeper. Because this isn’t just about the injuries. He has seen his brother hurt before, but never like this. Never this helpless. Never this destroyed.

Well, maybe once.

Jay drags his hands down his face, his eyes red, his breath coming in quick, desperate gasps. His chest heaves, his shoulders tremble, and then—he breaks. His face crumples, his entire body shaking as a sob tears from his throat. His hands clutch at his bruising ribs, his body folding in on itself, as if he’s trying to physically hold himself together. “I can’t lose her again,” he chokes out, his voice wrecked, barely above a whisper.

Will swallows hard, his own chest tightening at the sheer desperation in his younger brother’s voice. “She’ll be okay.”

Jay shakes his head violently. “You don’t know that.” His voice cracks. His breath stutters. And it’s not just silent tears. Not just a single moment of weakness. But full-body, uncontrollable, gut-wrenching sobs.

Will doesn’t hesitate. He steps forward, gripping Jay’s bare shoulder, steadying him as his brother falls apart.

Jay doesn’t fight it. He just presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, shaking his head, his body trembling with every painful breath.

Because all he can see—

All he can hear—

All he can feel—

Is her slipping away.

Again.

Dmitri Volkov moves with deliberate, unshaken ease, exuding the kind of calculated power that doesn't need to be loud to be terrifying. His expensive suit is immaculate, untouched by dust or blood, standing in stark contrast to the cold, grimy walls around them. Every step he takes is measured, every glance precise—as if he already owns the room, already owns them.

Avery stays still, forcing her expression blank, despite the way her pulse pounds against her ribs. She has met monsters before. She's survived them. But Dmitri? This is something else.

This is the man Nikolai learned from. The man who built an empire in blood and fear, who ran his organization so ruthlessly that even his own son is afraid to breathe wrong in his presence.

His eyes rake over Jay before he shifts his attention toward her. His gaze drags over her slowly, taking her in. The faintest ghost of a smile plays at the corners of Dmitri's mouth. "You and your little friend here aren't as smart as you think you are."

She tilts her head mockingly, "I think I've done just fine. Ask your son."

Nikolai's jaw tics, but Dmitri—Dmitri just chuckles. "And yet, here you are." Dmitri studies her curiously, "You really don't remember, do you?" He clicks his tongue, shaking his head. "The human brain is a truly remarkable thing."

It's then that everything clicks. The fact that Dmitri knows about her memory loss means Nikolai knows too, which he used to his advantage to taunt them. And if they know that, then it's the first real confirmation that there is someone in the task force working for Volkov. She believes Lang, but he had to have told someone once he found out she was still investigating. Maybe she should've returned his call.

Avery narrows her eyes and grits out, "Why don't you just tell me why we're here."

"Clever girl like you should know the answer to that." His tone is mild, conversational, like they're discussing a business deal instead of life and death. "I have many friends in many places. Friends who know quite a lot about you."

He takes a slow step forward, his gaze flickering between her and Jay, before settling back on her. "I'll admit, I didn't think you would be this easy to find. The hope was that your boyfriend here would bring you to us, but instead, he brought us to you. You should consider not being so codependent, spend some time apart."

She swallows down the anger clawing at her throat, the urge to talk back.

"But you... you just don't know when to quit." His voice is so calm, so even, like it's a fact of life, like he's already decided her fate. "You should've kept running."

Avery glares at him, "You don't know me very well."

Jay exhales a quiet laugh, his almost-certainly broken ribs making it increasingly more painful to breathe. "She's stubborn."

"Yes, she is," Dmitri's lips quirk, almost impressed. Then he sobers, shaking his head with a tired sigh. "It was my fault for trusting my boy to handle a man's job."

Nikolai stiffens. His entire posture changes, tension rolling off him in waves. His father's disappointment is like a blade, one that cuts deeper than any wound. "Father—" Nik starts.

"Quiet," Dmitri snaps, and Nikolai clamps his mouth shut like a chastised little boy.

Avery watches the exchange, then lets out a low chuckle.

Dmitri tilts his chin toward her, his brow arching slightly. "Do you find this amusing?"

"You—" she shakes her head, eyes ticking between them, "You have no idea how truly pathetic your son is." Nikolai tenses visibly and she leans forward as much as she can, her voice mocking, dripping with contempt. "That every time I was forced to listen to him whine about his daddy issues, all I could think about was how badly I wanted to empty my clip into his face just so he'd shut the hell up." She tilts her head, "Now I see where he gets it from."

Jay snorts, but Nikolai—he snaps. He steps forward aggressively, fists clenching, rage flashing hot and uncontrollable. Dmitri doesn't even look at him. He just raises a single hand that stops his son dead in his tracks.

Her chest rises and falls quickly, adrenaline spiking, but she keeps her face carefully blank.

Dmitri studies her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he clasps his hands behind his back, exhaling like a teacher disappointed in a student. "All you had to do was walk away," he chides.

"Those girls you have in cages can't walk away," she grits out through clenched teeth, horrible memories of how close she was flashing behind her eyes.

Jay sees it—the way Dmitri's eyes darken, just slightly, the way his fingers twitch briefly, like she touched a nerve.

Then—he smiles again. A slow, controlled smirk. "Where is it?"

She arches an eyebrow, "You're gonna need to be a bit more specific."

He lets out a dramatic sigh, "The evidence, Detective. I know that you collected your own during your time with my son."

"Well, like you said," Avery shrugs casually, like this is all just a waste of her time. "I don't remember."

Nik circles behind Jay's chair, fingers trailing lazily along the back of it. "Perhaps I can encourage your cooperation."

Her entire body locks up at the way Jay stiffens, the way he tries to control his already-labored breathing. "Do not touch him," she seethes, glare darkening dangerously.

Jay knows what's coming before it happens.

Nik leans down slightly, just close enough for Jay to feel his breath against his ear. "Such a shame, Halstead," he says mockingly, almost bored. When he doesn't get a reaction, it makes him grin. "You were in Organized Crime, were you not?" he continues, his tone dripping with condescension. "Yet you let her go in all alone. And you couldn't even protect her."

Her fingers curl into fists, her nails biting into her palms so hard she feels the skin break. Nikolai's eyes flick to her, watching, enjoying before his fist slams into Jay's ribs. The blunt hit echoes through the room as Jay grunts, his body jerking against the restraints, pain flaring through his torso like fire.

Avery flinches, her stomach twisting violently. But Jay just clenches his jaw, refusing to give Nikolai the satisfaction.

Which only pisses him off more. Nikolai steps back, shaking out his hand, smirking. "Let me know when you've had enough," he taunts.

Jay coughs once, pain sharp and stabbing, but when he looks up, his eyes are steadily defiant. "I'm good," he rasps, breathing through it. "You hit like a bitch."

Nikolai's smile disappears instantly. Avery doesn't even have time to yell before his fist cracks across Jay's face, hard and fast. His head snaps to the side, blood spattering onto the concrete. A metallic taste floods his mouth, his cheekbone throbbing, his vision blurring for a split second before he blinks it away.

Avery jerks against her restraints, a growl of frustration ripping from her throat. "Get the fuck away from him," she snaps, her voice sharp and commanding.

He grins, wiping the blood from his knuckles with casual ease, "Ah, there she is." He crouches slightly, placing a hand on the back of the chair. "Two years is a long time, Halstead..." he muses, his tone playful but cruel. "Do you truly believe she stayed loyal to you, even as you moved on? What's that blonde's name again?"

Jay glares at him, struggling to sit upright.

He tilts his head, amused. Nik glances at her, eyes tracing her body, "Was she as good of a time as our girl?"

Avery lunges forward as much as she can, her body screaming in protest, but she is practically vibrating with rage. "Touch him again and I will—"

Nik laughs, cutting her off, "You'll what?"

"Untie me and find out," she growls, the threat hanging in the air.

Before he can say another word, the door swings open suddenly, and a tall man in a dark suit steps in, tension carved into every line of his face. He speaks in rapid Russian, his voice clipped with urgency.

Dmitri, who she'd almost forgotten was even there, her focus purely on Jay, turns sharply, his face hardening as he listens. Nik frowns, stepping back from Jay, his expression shifting from amusement to something more serious.

Avery watches the exchange, her pulse quickening.

Dmitri sighs, long and slow, like this is nothing more than an inconvenience. He turns back to Avery, his expression unaffected. "It seems we have other matters to attend to," he says, clasping his hands behind his back again. "But don't worry." His lips curve slightly, but his eyes are cold. "We'll finish our conversation soon."

Nikolai lingers a beat longer, gaze flickering between Avery and Jay, like he's memorizing them, savoring this moment. With one final glance at her, he steps away, following Dmitri out the door.

Avery's pulse hammers against her ribs as she works her wrist against the restraint, ignoring the sting of plastic biting into her skin. She grits her teeth, sweat beading at her temple, her breath shallow and uneven. She can hear Jay across from her, his own struggles punctuated by quiet grunts of frustration.

"Dammit," she mutters to herself, twisting her wrist harder, but nothing happens.

Jay glances at her, his breathing heavy. "Ave—"

"Lift your foot," she demands. She scoots her chair until their knees bump against each other. When he doesn't respond, just arches a brow, she huffs, "Just do it."

He finally complies, even though he has no idea what she's thinking, and rests his leg across hers. It clicks together, their academy training kicking in, when her fingers start working at the laces of his boot, struggling against the tightened zip tie. Jay shuffles as close as he can, his own ties digging into his skin as he helps her thread the lace through the small gap. Once it's secured, the string tied as best as they can manage, he yanks his foot hard.

The plastic breaks with a snap and the moment her wrist is free, she exhales a sharp breath of relief, shaking out her aching fingers. It's a lot easier as she works at her other wrist before moving onto his, unable to stop her worried gaze from constantly checking him over.

“He was lying,” she mumbles. Her hands shake, her heart pounding too fast, too loud, but she forces herself to focus.

Jay studies her, and he knows exactly what she’s talking about—Nikolai’s taunts still hang between them. His jaw clenches, his fingers curling into fists and as soon as the tie rips, he reaches for her wrist, gripping it firmly but gently. His touch is grounding, his fingers tracing over the raw marks on her skin. His voice is low, steady and unshakable, “I know.”

Avery finally meets his gaze, and for the first time since they were taken, she feels like she can breathe again. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t doubt. And that’s enough. She gives a small nod, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly, but her fingers keep working, body still shaking with adrenaline.

The second the final zip tie snaps, his body goes rigid from the sudden release, muscles locking up from pain. Before he can slump forward, Avery’s hands are on him, gripping his shoulders tight. “Jay,” her voice is sharper than she intends, thick with concern.

His breath stutters, his chest rising and falling too quickly, his body tensing as he fights to stay upright. His face is pale, blood trailing from his busted lip and other cuts from the crash. "I'm good," he forces out, one hand coming up to clutch his ribs.

Her stomach clenches painfully, not believing him for a second. Avery lifts a shaking hand, her thumb brushing carefully over his cheek as her eyes scan over every bruise, every cut.

Jay huffs a low chuckle, but it’s strained. "Don’t start crying on me now."

Her lips press into a thin line, her jaw tightening. "Shut up," Avery scoffs, but the words lack any bite. Because he's hurt. Because she knows him, knows that he's pushing through the pain, knows that his entire body is screaming in protest. But he's still making jokes, still acting like none of this is affecting him. Her fingers ghost over his side, light but deliberate. Jay flinches slightly, jaw clenching, but he doesn't pull away. "How bad is it?" she demands.

He lets out a slow, controlled exhale, shaking his head, "I'll live." His eyes flicker with exhaustion, his body screaming in protest, but her glare cuts right through him. Jay recognizes this kind of pain too much not to know. "Cracked rib. Maybe two." Then he shifts slightly, trying to straighten, and a harsh hiss escapes his lips before he grits out, “Or three.”

She inhales sharply, her pulse spiking with anger, worry, helplessness. She can't fix this. She can't undo what Nik did to him. Can’t take back the crash. Can’t ease the pain he’s in. All because of her. But she can get them the hell out of here. Avery tightens her grip on him, bracing him as best she can. "We’re getting out of here," she says, determined.

Jay nods once, his fingers clenching into fists before flexing out again, trying to regain circulation.

"Hey," she mutters, softer now, tilting her head just enough to meet his gaze head-on. Jay blinks at her, exhausted but still sharp. "You with me?"

He lets out a slow, steady breath. "Yeah. I'm with you."

Avery nods once, forcing down the knot in her throat. And then, without thinking, without hesitation, she leans forward, her lips crashing against his. He freezes for half a second before he melts into it, his body sagging against hers just slightly, just enough to let her hold him up. It's not slow, not careful. It's raw, fueled by adrenaline and desperation. Her hands grip onto his shirt as Jay threads his fingers through her hair and pulls her closer, needing to memorize the way she feels against him.

When they finally break apart, their foreheads rest against each other, their breaths mingling, heavy, uneven. His hand lingers at the back of her head, his thumb brushing against her skin, his eyes still closed.

She pulls back, her eyes flickering over his face, over the bruises, the cuts, the blood, the exhaustion. "Come on," Avery orders gently, looping his arm over her shoulder, taking as much of his weight as she can.

Jay lets out a strained exhale, shifting his stance, gritting through the pain as they start moving. His body is heavy against hers, but she doesn’t let go, doesn’t hesitate. His voice is hoarse, but strong, “You got a plan?”

“Nope,” she admits, breathing through her own aching muscles as they walk.

The corridor is cold and damp, the overhead lights flickering weakly, casting long shadows against the cracked concrete walls. Their footsteps are measured but quick as they move forward, each step painstakingly cautious. Jay’s weight is heavy against her, his ribs screaming with every movement, but he doesn’t slow down. He won’t slow down.

They make it halfway down the corridor when a door swings open ahead of them. The guard steps out, his AK casually slung over his shoulder, completely unaware that he’s about to have a really bad day.

Avery reacts instantly. Her grip tightens around Jay for just a split second before she lets go, shifting her weight as she lunges forward, closing the distance fast—too fast for the guard to even process what’s happening. The sharp, brutal snap of her knee connecting with his groin is the first thing that registers.

The guard chokes on a strangled breath, his body folding forward on pure instinct, but she’s already moving again. The side of her open hand collides hard against his throat, an efficient strike. A garbled gag escapes him, his hands flying up, desperate, instinctive—too slow. Avery follows up with a swift, devastating punch to the side of his head, and he crumples to the ground, unconscious before he even lands.

Jay lets out a sharp breath, leaning against the wall slightly, his body reeling from both pain and sheer admiration as he watches.

She grabs the guard’s gun instantly, flicking the safety off and scanning the hallway before turning back to him. "You good?" Avery asks, breathless but sharp.

Jay steadies himself, his stance still solid despite the pain wrecking through his ribs. Despite the blood smearing his face, the bruises forming along his jaw, and the fact that they’re literally in the middle of an escape attempt—he grins.

She immediately narrows her eyes. "What?"

Jay tilts his head, wincing slightly but still smirking. "That was really hot." Avery blinks once, utterly unamused. He shrugs one shoulder, like he didn’t just say the most inappropriate thing at the worst possible moment.

Avery lets out an exasperated breath, reaching out and smacking his chest—not too hard, because she’s still worried about his ribs. "Focus, Halstead."

He huffs a laugh, his expression still far too entertained for someone who just got his ass kicked. "I’m focused. Just also… appreciating the moment."

"Come on, Romeo.” Avery rolls her eyes, draping his arm over her shoulder as hers bands around his waist to keep him steady.

"It’s not my fault you’re sexy as hell," he quips, his smirk lazy but affectionate even as he grimaces at the way his ribs shift.

She bites back a smile. "Keep it in your pants."

They round a corner, Avery leading quickly, Jay keeping up as best he can. But then she freezes. Her entire body locks up, eyes widening as she lifts her head. "Did you hear that?"

Jay stills instantly, all amusement gone, his instincts kicking in. "What?"

Silence.

But then she hears it again—a soft whimper.

Avery spins toward the sound, following it, heading straight toward a heavy metal door. Her heart is racing now, the gun hanging heavy on her shoulder as she unbolts the latch at the top. She pushes it open.

And everything stops.

Rows of locked cages line the walls, the metal rusted and filthy. Inside, young women and girls huddle together, their eyes wide, hollow, terrified.

Her stomach twists violently. Her pulse thunders in her ears, rage crackling down her spine like a live wire. Avery moves before she even realizes what she’s doing, pushing the gun into Jay’s hands, leaving him leaning against a table for balance as she rushes forward. "Hey, hey," her voice softens, urgent but gentle. "You’re safe now. We’re the police."

One of the girls flinches. But then another lifts her head, recognition flickering through her tired, broken gaze. "Talia?"

Avery stops cold. The name hits like a bullet to the chest. Her lungs squeeze, her vision momentarily tunneling as she meets the girl’s eyes. She remembers her. Remembers the promise she made the last time she found them. The promise she didn’t keep.

Jay watches her closely, his grip tightening on the gun, his knuckles white with tension as he glances between her and the girls.

She forces herself to breathe, to push past the momentary freeze, to focus on the mission. She turns back to Jay, "Stay here."

His head snaps toward her instantly, his brow furrowing, eyes flashing with protest. "The hell I am."

"Jay." Her voice is firm, leaving no room for argument. "You’re hurt. You can barely stand. You stay here, cover them. I’ll find a way to get help."

He grits his teeth, his frustration palpable as his fingers tighten around the weapon. But he knows—deep down, he knows she’s right. Still, it doesn’t stop him from hating it. "Be fast," Jay grinds out, stormy green eyes burning into hers.

Avery nods once, meeting his gaze, silently promising that this isn’t goodbye. She’ll come back, and he’ll be okay.

Then—she turns and disappears out the door.

Avery moves fast through the dimly lit corridors, her heart pounding with adrenaline, her grip tight around a discarded piece of wood she found. She has a plan—find a way out and call for backup before Volkov’s men realize they’re gone. Then get Jay and the girls out of here. Easy.

Then she rounds a corner and nearly runs straight into another guard.

His eyes widen, his hand flying to his holster, but Avery reacts faster, smashing the wooden plank into his face. A sickening crack rings through the corridor, blood spurting from his nose as he staggers backward with a strangled curse. He recovers quickly and lunges, using his size against her, and she goes down hard. The cold concrete knocks the breath from her lungs, pain screaming through her back, but she doesn’t stop fighting. His knee digs into her stomach, his weight crushing as his hands pin her wrists beside her head.

“Ty tupaya suka,” he spits at her, voice rough with pain. The radio on his hip crackles, distorted voices filtering through.

Avery registers the distraction instantly, feels it in the way his grip loosens just enough for her to slip free. She shoves her thumb deep into his eye socket, pressing hard, relentless. The man howls, both hands flying up to claw at hers. That’s all she needs. She twists sharply, using the opening to buck him off her.

The plank is just within reach, but before her fingers can grasp it, his hand clamps around her ankle, yanking her back. She whips around, slamming the bottom of her boot into his chest. The impact sends him sprawling, his body hitting the floor with a heavy thud. Avery doesn’t waste a second. She snatches the plank, spins, and swings it with everything she has. It connects with his face, the force snapping his head to the side—and then he’s out cold.

Avery lays there for a moment, chest heaving, muscles burning with exertion. She tosses the plank aside and winces as she pushes herself up, snatching the guard’s gun from his waist and checking the clip. After a moment, she grabs his radio just as a voice comes through again.

“Vlad, dolozhi na vostochnoy storone. Gospodinu Volkovu nuzhno bol'she okhrany.”

East side. Volkov. Security.

Her breath sharpens, the mission to find an exit fading instantly. Because now, all she can think about is Volkov.

Avery heads back the way she came before taking a hard left. She keeps moving, gun ready. She finds her way into a large room lined with concrete pillars, dimly lit by flickering overhead lights.

And there—standing by a desk, flipping through a thick folder of documents like he has all the time in the world—

Dmitri.

Avery doesn’t hesitate. She raises the gun, the metal steady in her grip, her heart pounding. "Back up.” His cold, calculating gaze lifts, meeting hers, his face utterly unbothered. "Hands where I can see them. Now," she orders through gritted teeth.

Dmitri exhales slowly, almost amused, before lifting his hands, palms open. "You’re predictable, Talia."

Her jaw clenches at the name, but she doesn’t let him see it rattle her. She tightens her grip, taking a step forward. “You’re under arrest.”

He tilts his head slightly, studying her. "You won’t shoot me."

Avery arches a brow, unfazed, "You sure about that?"

“I am.”

The voice doesn’t belong to Dmitri.

Avery freezes. Because suddenly—the cold press of a gun barrel digs into the back of her skull. Her stomach drops.

"Drop it," Nikolai breathes against her ear.

Her breath catches, her muscles coiling with tension. Slowly—furious, seething, but smart—she lowers the gun, then tosses it to the cement with a hollow clatter.

Nik grins, his fingers brushing her hair back over her shoulder deliberately. "Good girl."

Her nostrils flare, rage coiling like a storm beneath her skin as he nudges her forward. She pretends to stumble, just enough for him to lower his guard. And in that split second, she snaps into action. Avery grabs his wrist, shoving his arm away from her head. The gun goes off, two deafening shots firing into the ceiling. She spins, driving him back, slamming him against the wall—but Nikolai recovers too fast.

He flips them effortlessly, his hand wrapping around her throat, pinning her. She inhales sharply, her fingers digging into his wrist, trying to pry him off. His grip tightens, his fingers pressing into her windpipe, making it harder to breathe. His eyes burn with something raw, something broken. "I loved you," Nik grumbles lowly, voice trembling with rage.

She doesn’t see it coming.

A sudden, white-hot pain rips through her side.

Avery gasps, her body jerking violently as the blade sinks deep, just below her ribs. Fire spreads through her torso like a shockwave. Her legs buckle, a choked cry slipping past her lips as she claws at his wrist. Nikolai twists the blade slightly, ripping a fresh wave of agony through her. Her vision blurs at the edges, and just as she starts to see spots, his grip around her neck loosens and he rips the knife out.

She crashes to the ground, the impact knocking the wind from her lungs. A warm rush of blood spills down her side, seeping into her shirt, pooling beneath her on the cold cement.

Nikolai steps back, chest heaving, his own hands shaking. His father steps up beside him, eerily calm. They exchange a few words, but she can’t hear it over the sound of her pulse roaring in her ears. She blinks up at them blearily, fingers coating in warmth as she brings her hand to her stomach.

And she watches as they turn and walk away.

Leaving Avery bleeding out on the floor.

The warm sun of late spring casts its glow over the cabin’s dock, but Mia isn’t paying attention to the heat. Goosebumps settle over her skin at the breeze, the clear blueish-green lake water beckoning her toward it as she stands at the edge. Her bare feet wiggle in the soft wood, her gaze flicking back at Jay, who is settled in a chair with a beer in his hand. He gives her a lopsided grin before bringing the bottle to his lips.

She sends him a smile, brushing her wind-blown hair behind her ear. It’s a sold few inches shorter than she’s used to, even after several months with it at its current length. But she needed a change, and chopping off her hair seemed like the least radical thing to do. Jay shot down her tattoo idea real fast—not that she needs his permission, but he keeps her impulsivity in check. As much as he can, at least. "You're seriously not going to get in?" Mia calls over her shoulder, already tugging off her cover-up and letting it fall to the ground.

“It’s barely seventy degrees out,” he warns, his eyebrow arching in amusement. “The water’s freezing.”

She tosses him a teasing glance, feeling his protective instincts shift into gear as she gently tosses her sunglasses onto her nearby towel. “You’re such a buzzkill,” Mia teases, but his eyes soften as he lets out a low chuckle. Her pulse quickens as an idea sparks in her mind, and she spins around fully with a wide grin. “You know the drill.”

Jay rolls his eyes, but when she unties the strings holding her swimsuit together and lets both pieces fall, his expression darkens. “Mia,” his voice drops an octave, a warning wrapped in something else.

Without another word, she dives in. Sinking into the coolness, the lake's chill hits her skin like a wave of clarity, washing away the memories that haunt her—at least for a moment. When Mia resurfaces, the air feels different, lighter, and she lets out a laugh. The sound is pure joy, a freedom she hasn’t felt in too long. She turns to see Jay now standing at the edge with his hands on his hips, a mixture of disbelief and affection in his eyes.

His voice follows her as she floats backward. "Mia," he says again, sounding more amused than stern.

She ducks under the water, then resurfaces in exaggerated panic. “Help!” she calls out, though her voice doesn’t hold any true urgency. “I’m drowning!”

“You’re ridiculous,” Jay yells, shaking his head at her antics. Truthfully, he relishes in the sight of her laughing, joking, carefree. The last five months have been hard for her. It didn’t take long for her to realize that the only way she could keep the nightmares from plaguing her mind was to talk to him. Nights spent talking on the phone quickly turned to nights spent at his apartment, which eventually turned into her clothes in his closet permanently. It took a lot of time, patience, and communication to get to where they are now. And every time he sees her smile, it reminds him why he’s been fighting so hard.

“I need a police officer!” she declares, her tone dramatically desperate. Jay sighs, but she catches the glint of laughter in his eyes. When Mia looks at him, she feels like she can breathe again. And when she pretends to struggle, she feels lighter, every moment with him replacing and rebuilding something she lost.

After a few more moments of her dramatics, he pulls off his clothes, clearly deciding there’s no way he’s going to let her have all the fun alone. With a swift movement, he plunges into the water after her. She stops her theatrics, wading calmly in the cool water as she waits for him, biting her lip to suppress a smile.

When he reaches her, his hands instinctively find her waist, tugging her into his chest. The world narrows to just the two of them—the water, the sun, and the quiet of woods surrounding them. It’s still shallow enough for him to stand and she winds her arms around his shoulders, her legs wrapping tightly around his waist as she presses herself against him.

“Would you look at that, you saved me,” she tilts her head with a soft smile. She leans into him, eyes locking with his, and in his gaze, she finds everything—love, safety, the unspoken promise that he will always be there.

“Always,” Jay whispers, the warmth of his breath a gentle contrast to the coolness of the water as he brushes his nose against hers.

Their lips meet in a kiss, slow and tender. When Mia pulls away, the playful energy from earlier has faded, replaced by a gravity that tugs at her heart. Her breath hitches in her chest, not from the cold or the adrenaline, but from the depth of her emotions. Jay’s green eyes hold hers, steady, unwavering, and she can feel the weight of what she’s about to say settle in her bones.

“Marry me.”

The words hang between them, heavy with meaning. Jay blinks in surprise, his brow furrowing as he searches her face for any sign of joking. But there is none. Her heart beats louder, a impatient rhythm in the silence between them.

“What?” he finally asks, the word a quiet echo of disbelief.

Her voice softens, her heart pounding in her ears, “These last few months have been really hard for me, and you’ve been there for all of it. And the last time I was up here…” She exhales a shaky breath, swallowing the emotion clawing at her throat. “I didn’t think I would have a future. But I’m here, and I’m alive, and… I know that my future is with you.”

Her lips quirk into a hopeful smile, “So marry me.” The silence between them hangs heavy in the water, the weight of her question slowly sinking in. Nerves bubble in her stomach as every second passes without a word as Jay stares at her, but Mia doesn’t regret a single word.

Then, slowly, the corners of his lips tug into a grin—a wide, genuine grin that makes his eyes crinkle. “You’re kinda stealing my thunder, babe,” Jay teases, but his voice is still thick with emotion.

Mia blinks, her heart racing, “What?”

“My mom’s ring,” he says, his voice cracking just slightly, “It’s in the pocket of my bag inside.”

Her breath catches in her throat, a rush of warmth spreading through her chest. This moment isn’t just about a question, it’s about the future they’ve both been waiting for. She doesn’t care about the cold, about anything but him. The man who has saved her in every way possible. “Is that a yes?” she manages, her vision clouding.

“Hell yes,” Jay whispers, his voice a vow, a promise, as he cups her face and gently pulls her toward him.

Mia can’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling up from deep inside her as her lips find his again, closing the distance between them. The kiss is bruising, desperate, a desperate declaration of everything they have and everything they still would become.

And nothing else matters.

The sun filtered softly through the curtains, casting golden streaks across the tangled mess of sheets and limbs. The room was quiet, filled only with the distant hum of the city outside and the slow, steady breaths of the woman beside him. Jay woke to warmth. The kind that settled deep, that made it impossible to do anything but stay exactly where he was.

Avery lay curled into his side, her bare skin pressed against his, her breath warm and even against his collarbone. His arm was slung around her, fingers moving idly in light, absentminded patterns across the curve of her spine.

He didn't move. Didn't want to. Instead, he just watched her—the way her lashes flickered slightly, the way her lips parted softly in sleep. She looked so at peace, so untouched by the chaos of the world they lived in, filled with bullets flying at them and undercover stints with Russian crime bosses.

They rarely got mornings like this. Slow. Unrushed. Just them. And he wanted more of them.

That was why the velvet box with his mother's ring was tucked away in his bag. He had planned everything—take her to the cabin, just the two of them. No cases. No stress. No danger.

Just them.

And then he was going to ask her to marry him. It wasn't going to be some elaborate, orchestrated moment. There would be no grand speeches, no excessive plans. Just a ring, a question, and the rest of their lives. Because that was them. Simple. Natural. The way they were always meant to be.

She shifted slightly, her nose brushing against his collarbone before she let out a sleepy hum. Jay smiled, his fingers trailing up to her face, brushing his thumb gently over her cheekbone. "Morning," he whispered.

Avery made a small noise of protest, burrowing closer against him, her face pressed to his chest. "Too early," she grumbled, her voice muffled against his skin.

Jay chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "It's not even that early."

She huffed, one eye cracking open, still hazy with sleep and warmth. Then she stretched like a cat, her body arching against his, her muscles flexing beneath golden morning light.

Jay watched her, his chest tightening with something deep, something unwavering. How the hell did he get this lucky?

Then, with a wicked grin, she climbed on top of him, the sheets pooling around her waist as she straddled him, hands pressed to his chest. "So," she drew out the word, eyes gleaming with mirth. "What's the plan for our little getaway?"

He exhaled, schooling his expression into something neutral, even as his hands skimmed up her bare thighs, anchoring her firmly in place. Even as he pictured the look on her face when he got down on one knee. "That's classified."

Avery bit her lip, leaning down, her mouth ghosting over the shell of his ear. "I have ways of making you talk."

"Yeah?" Jay laughed, his grip tightening on her hips.

She hummed in response, her voice low, suggestive, "I'm extremely skilled at interrogation."

"Hopefully these aren't your usual methods," he teased, arching a brow.

Avery rolled her hips just slightly, enough to make his breath catch, her smirk deepening. "Just for you, babe." She leaned in, her nose brushing against his, teasing him with a barely-there kiss.

His heart thudded hard against his ribs, every part of him anchored to this moment, to her.

Because this was it. This was everything, and he never wanted it to end.

Jay jerks awake. Pain explodes through his ribs, hot and blinding, stealing his breath before he even fully registers where he is. His vision swims, the dim, flickering light above him casting eerie shadows that twist and blur.

Concrete. A cold chair digging into his back. His wrists bound tightly to its arms, plastic biting into raw skin.

Fuck.

His pulse spikes, body tensing on instinct—

And then he hears her breathing, and relief crashes through him. His head snaps up, ignoring the sharp protest of his ribs, eyes zeroing in on the figure across from him. Her head hangs forward slightly, hair falling into her face, but she's breathing. Jay exhales, forcing his breath steady, blinking hard, "Avery."

A soft groan slips from her lips as she stirs, her wrists burning from the zip ties, her head pounding violently. Her eyes flutter open, unfocused, her head throbbing. Panic claws at her chest, but Avery forces herself to stay still, to breathe, to take in her surroundings. It ebbs slightly when she sees him. Her voice is hoarse from disuse, "Jay?"

"I'm here," he reassures.

Her chest rises too fast, a familiar sinking feeling crashing through her gut. The room, the restraints, the way the cold bleeds into her skin. It's too familiar, and it's like she's back there again. Hanging from the ceiling in chains. Her breathing stutters, panic coiling like a vice around her lungs.

Jay sees it immediately. He recognizes the signs—the way her shoulders lock up, the way her breath comes too fast, too uneven. "Ave, look at me." His voice is soft but firm, grounding her before she spirals completely. Her eyes snap to his, wide and filled with something he hates seeing in her—fear. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, ignoring the sharp agony in his ribs, "Just breathe with me."

She nods quickly, watching the way his chest moves, forcing herself to match him.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

The panic doesn't vanish, but the fog lifts just enough.

After a few moments, after she's calmed enough, Jay finally asks, "You okay?"

Avery shifts slightly in her restraints, testing them. "Been better." Her gaze rakes over him, flickering with something sharp and worried as she takes in the blood on his face, the bruising forming along his jaw, "You?"

He exhales sharply, gritting his teeth against the pain, "Think I've got a busted rib."

She tugs harder at that, but the zip ties don't budge. "What the hell happened?"

"We drove into a trap," Jay grits out, struggling against his own ties. The plastic digs into his skin, but he doesn't care—he has to get them out of here.

Avery opens her mouth but before she can respond, the door across the room opens. Both of their heads snap toward it, but they can't see anything in the darkness. Then a familiar voice cuts through the silence, sending a cold shiver down her spine.

"Finally awake, Talia. Or do you prefer Avery? Detective Clarke?"

Her blood turns to ice. Nikolai. She forces her face into a mask of indifference, despite the fear curling in her gut. "Nik," she says cooly, even as her pulse hammers against her ribs. "If you missed me that bad, you should've just called."

A slow, humorless chuckle drifts through the air. Footsteps echo against the concrete, deliberate and measured, as Nikolai steps into view. Hands tucked casually into his pockets, his dark eyes gleaming with something sharp and twisted. He looks the same. And yet, somehow worse. The boyish charm she'd grown familiar with is gone, replaced with something colder, more lethal.

And the anger—the anger flows from him in radioactive waves, like he has been waiting for this moment.

"I trusted you," he says, his voice eerily calm, and that terrifies her more than anything. "And you lied to me."

Avery arches an eyebrow, shrugging casually, "It wasn't hard."

Something flashes in his expression, something almost like hurt before it's swallowed by fury. "That's the thing about love," he mutters, stepping closer. "It makes you blind. It makes you a fool. And you made me a fool, Talia." He spits the name like it's poison on his tongue, before his gaze flicks to Jay. A wicked grin spreads across his face, "Ah. And there he is. The boyfriend."

Jay grits out roughly, "Go to hell."

Nikolai laughs, circling behind Avery's chair, fingers trailing along the wooden frame. "The valiant Detective Halstead," he muses, feigning nostalgia.

"Don't talk to him," Avery snaps, jaw tight.

He just looks amused as he ignores her. "When I first heard about you, Halstead, I wasn't very impressed. But I'll admit, you fought harder than my men thought you would." His fingers trail deliberately along her sleeve. "The things we do for love, no?"

Jay strains against the zip ties, every muscle in his body coiled with rage. "Get your hands off her."

"Oh, Detective," he tuts, shaking his head as his smirk only grows. "You act like I haven't already had her."

Avery doesn't flinch. "In your dreams," she scoffs.

Nikolai clicks his tongue. "I was good to you, wasn't I?" He cups her chin, forcing her to look at him, "I gave you everything. Protection. Power. And what did you do with it?" His grip tightens just slightly, enough to send a warning. "You betrayed me."

She narrows her eyes, steel in her voice despite the tremor in her hands. "It wasn't a betrayal, Nik. I was never loyal to you to begin with."

His eyes darken, the mask of amusement slipping for just a second. "I don't believe you," he says, a wistful lilt to his tone. Like a part of him doesn’t want to accept that she never cared, that it was all one complicated, drawn out lie.

Jay's breathing is sharp, painful and unsteady. He's trying to hold it together, trying to remind himself that Volkov is a liar, a manipulator, a sadistic bastard who thrives on control. But the second Nikolai tilts his head, smirking, his gaze flickering between Avery and Jay like he's savoring this moment, he knows what's coming. And he hates that Nikolai can already see how much this is getting to him.

"You know, Halstead..." He stops beside Avery's chair, trailing his fingers lightly over the top of it—just close enough to feel like a threat, but not touching her again. "I have to say, I admire your taste."

Jay glares, his fingers curling into fists against the arm rests, "Shut the fuck up."

Nikolai laughs under his breath, his fingers tapping against the chair absently. "When I first saw her, I was mesmerized," he hums, shaking his head. "The most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, yes. But the fire beneath, that's what caught my eye." He smirks, glancing down at Avery.

She doesn't look at him, her body vibrating with restrained fury.

"Don't fucking talk about her," Jay warns through grit teeth.

Nik ignores him, his grin widening as he tilts his head toward Avery. "And she knew it, knew exactly how to use her...talents to her advantage. Isn't that right, malyshka?"

Avery jerks her shoulder away when his fingers get too close, "I am not your baby."

"No?" he quirks a brow. "Not even when you begged for it like you had never been touched properly before?"

Her chest rises and falls quickly, her body strung so tight she feels like she might snap. He's lying. She knows it. Jay knows it. But the way Nikolai says it, so casual, so cruel, like it's some cherished fucking memory—it makes her stomach churn violently.

Nik crouches beside her chair, eyes gleaming at the pure rage on Jay's face. "Tell him, Avery," he mutters, voice soft, mocking.

"You're a fucking liar." Her jaw clenches so tightly it aches, pain splintering through her temples, but she doesn't care. Doesn't care about the zip ties cutting into her skin, doesn't care about the bruises forming along her ribs. Because she won't let him win. Her nails dig into her palms, sharp and biting, keeping her anchored, keeping her from showing weakness.

"You keep saying that.” His fingers twist into her hair and yank hard, wrenching her head back violently, and she sucks in a sharp breath through her teeth. The angle forces her to look up at him, his face hovering too close, his breath hot against her skin. "But I remember how much you liked it rough."

Jay loses all semblance of control. "I will kill you, you sick fuck," he snarls dangerously, each word dripping with a promise of violence. He wrenches against the restraints, his muscles straining so brutally that the chair screeches against the floor, metal legs scraping against the concrete.

Avery sees the rage in his eyes, the kind of rage that destroys everything in its path, but Nikolai only grins. He loves this. He's relishing it. Because this isn't just about hurting her—the woman who manipulated him into loving her—it's about hurting Jay, the man she actually cared about.

Nikolai tilts his head slightly before he whispers, still loud enough for them both to hear, "Should we give him a little show?"

Something in Avery snaps. Her vision flashes red, fury blazing so hot it scorches her skin, and she spits in his face.

The moment the saliva splatters across his cheek, the room goes deathly still.

Jay stills in his chair, and he struggles to fight back the proud smile threatening to take over his face.

Nikolai's entire expression twists, the amusement gone in an instant, replaced by something dark, simmering, volatile. He lets go of her instantly, jerking back, his hand wiping slowly across his cheek. His breathing is heavy, nostrils flaring as his other hand curls into a fist at his side.

When he reels his hand back, she braces herself for the hit, every muscle tensing. But it never comes.

A voice cuts through the tension like a blade. "That's enough." It's sharp, commanding, and it makes the room shift instantly.

Nikolai freezes, his body going rigid.

Avery turns her head, breath catching in her throat as she sees the man stepping into the room. Her stomach twists violently with instant recognition.

But it's the way he looks at her that's confusing. Not with amusement. Not with rage. Not with indifference. But with familiarity. Like he's seen her before. Like he knows her.

And when he speaks, his voice is smooth, confident, dripping with something unreadable. "Hello again, Talia."

Avery's blood runs cold. Her pulse pounds viciously against her ribs, her breath hitching in her throat.

Because she doesn't remember ever meeting Dmitri Volkov.

But he remembers her.

Voight glances up from his paperwork, something gnawing at him before he even registers what it is. The bullpen is quieter than usual. His gaze drifts, locking onto two empty desks. His pen drops, the reports he was approving completely forgotten. He stands, moving into the doorway, his voice sharp but even, "Where's Halstead and Clarke?"

Adam barely looks up from his phone, shrugging, "She texted me earlier that they were running late."

Nothing weird about that. Except… Jay and Avery don’t run late. Ever.

The team barely has time to process that thought before footsteps echo up the stairs—and the moment they see the grim look on Trudy’s face, the tension in the room snaps like a live wire. They’ve seen that look before. It’s too familiar, too recent.

Trudy doesn’t waste time. “Clarke radioed in about twenty minutes ago that they were en route to a shots fired at Lincoln and 14th.” She pauses for a beat. “They haven’t responded to multiple radio calls. And their phones stopped pinging at the same time.”

The room goes silent.

Kim shakes her head, glancing at Kevin, but his expression is already darkening. "Maybe they're just caught up—"

"What was their last location?" Voight interrupts gruffly. His instinct is already screaming at him because he knows his daughter, knows that he trained her better than this. She would never go dark unless something was wrong.

"About a block north of the call," Trudy confirms.

Adam is already grabbing his jacket, pulling it on as he moves toward the door. "Let's go."

"I want squads out there now!" Hank barks as the team rushes out.

Their cars come to a hard stop along Lincoln, sirens silent but lights flashing, sending a blue-red strobe across the otherwise quiet streets. Voight is running out first, his eyes already sweeping the area. Then he sees it, and his stomach twists with a sinking dread.

Jay's truck, smashed to hell. Doors open. Empty.

Kevin and Vanessa take opposite sides, canvassing immediately. Hailey and Adam move fast, weapons drawn as they approach, scanning every angle. The inside of the truck is a mess—the windshield cracked, glass scattered across the seats. The airbag deployed. Her throat tightens at the blood on the driver's side. Small splatters—not enough to be fatal, but enough to know that someone got hurt. That Jay got hurt.

Adam's breathing is hard as he holsters his weapon, eyes trained on the small spot of blood on the passenger side window. His gaze travels to the footwell, recognizing his partner’s gun. He picks it up and checks the clip, gritting his teeth at the realization that she didn’t even fire a single shot. "Where the hell are they?"

"I got something!" Rojas cuts through the tense quiet. The team snaps to her, moving fast as she points out two smashed phones near the curb, screens completely shattered.

Hailey bends down, her jaw tight as she picks up Jay's phone. She closes her eyes briefly, forcing her breathing to stay even. "Somebody didn't want them calling for backup."

Hank's breath hitches slightly, but he masks it fast, turning to the uniformed officers already spreading out to canvas. "Check every house and business in a five-mile radius, every damn traffic camera. Somebody had to see something."

A pit settles in Hailey's stomach. If Jay and Avery had time to call for help, they would've. If they didn't... She doesn't let herself finish the thought.

A young patrol officer jogs up, his radio clipped to his shoulder, eyes wide. "Sarge, we talked to some of the neighbors. No one reported hearing shots."

Kevin has his phone pressed to his ear, “Hold on, Burg.” He puts it on speaker. “Go ahead.”

Kim’s voice crackles through, “I’m checking shot-spotters in the area and there haven’t been any reports of gunfire in the last two hours.”

Silence.

"There were no shots fired," Kevin concludes darkly. "The call was fake."

Adam curses under his breath, shaking his head. "So they get lured out here, get in some kinda crash, and now they're just gone?"

"Keep looking,” Voight orders. “Somebody saw something."

After a few minutes, Kevin calls out, "Yo!" He's crouched by the rear bumper of the truck, his gloved hand reaching underneath. His expression is tight, his jaw locked as he pulls out a small, black device. He turns it over, examining it carefully. "They were being followed."

"How long do you think that's been on there?" Hailey asks.

"No way to know yet." Kevin stands up, his expression unreadable. "But this wasn't random."

Adam shakes his head, "This was an ambush."

Voight looks at the tracker, his face unreadable.

"This has to be Volkov, right?" Vanessa asks.

It seems like the obvious answer. Avery had been undercover in his operation for two years, and she betrayed them. Adam's brows knit together, his jaw clenching. "She’s been back for months, so why now? And why track Jay’s car? How could they know she would be with him?"

“They’re always together,” Vanessa says quickly. When everyone stares at her, when Hailey stares at her, she swallows. “I just… I mean, they’re dating, right?”

“We run every lead, starting with anyone who would hold a grudge against them,” Voight orders. “We don’t stop until we bring them home.”

The district was quiet. Most of the team had already gone home for the night, leaving the bullpen bathed in the dim glow of desk lamps and the flickering light of computer screens. Hailey sat at her desk, scrolling through case files, but her mind wasn’t really on the words in front of her. It was on Jay.

Across the room, he was slumped in his chair, staring at a file he hadn’t flipped the page on for the past twenty minutes. His eyes were distant, unfocused, like he was looking at something that wasn’t there.

Hailey knew he hadn’t been sleeping. Knew he had nightmares. Knew he barely went home. Knew he’d been drowning himself in distractions, trying to forget—trying to outrun something he’d never escape. It had almost cost him his career. She hadn’t known him long, but she saw him falling apart every single day.

And tonight? Tonight, it looked like it was finally going to swallow him whole.

She closed the file, pushing back her chair before standing and making her way over. She stopped just beside his desk, watching him for a second. "Jay." No reaction. She hesitated, then sat on the edge of his desk, crossing her arms. "How are you doing? How’s therapy?"

Jay barely reacted, didn’t even look up. “Not really my thing,” he said flatly, emotionless.

Hailey studied him for a beat before sighing. "Alright, well, if you’re not even going to try to take it seriously then—"

Finally, he blinked, exhaling slowly as he dragged a hand across his forehead and cut her off. "I don’t need this right now, Hailey." His voice was rough, hoarse from exhaustion and something heavier—something that had been eating at him for months.

But Hailey didn’t move, didn’t back down. “I think you do.”

Jay couldn’t help but snort, shaking his head. "You don't know what I need."

She paused for a beat before admitting, "Maybe I don’t. But I know what you're doing."

Finally, he looked at her. His green eyes were tired and dull, the bags beneath them heavy and dark. "And what am I doing?" he asked, his voice edged with sarcasm.

Hailey exhaled through her nose, her own jaw tightening slightly. "Trying to forget."

Jay flinched. It was small, almost unnoticeable. He shook his head, looking away. "Just drop it."

But she didn’t, because she couldn’t. They couldn’t keep going like this. Since the second she’d walked into the Intelligence Unit, she knew she’d been filling a void that couldn’t be filled. She’d felt it in the way Jay screamed at Voight that he didn’t need a new partner, in the way he’d nearly bitten her head off when she tried to take the desk across from him. But she was his partner now. And he needed to start acting like it, or she’d be forced to get a new one.

"I know it hurts. I know it feels like you can’t breathe sometimes." Jay inhaled sharply, his fingers tightening into fists where they rested on his desk. "But you’re still here, Jay," she said gently.

His breath hitched. And when his gaze finally met hers again, it was broken. "I don’t know how to live without her," he admitted.

Hailey swallowed, her chest tight, but she didn’t let herself look away. "Then you figure it out."

Jay let out a sharp, humorless laugh, rubbing a hand over his face, "And what if I don’t want to?" The words slipped out before he could stop them, and it shattered something inside him. But it also felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders at finally saying it out loud. Like voicing the crushing truth that every single night, he fell asleep not giving a single fuck if he woke up the next morning had somehow freed him and broken him all at once.

Hailey froze. Because there it was—the part that scared her the most. Jay had been walking a fine line since the day they buried Avery’s empty casket. And for the first time, he was opening up about it. Her voice softened, but there was steel underneath it, "You don’t get to say that."

He exhaled, shaking his head, “I don’t—” His voice broke, his shoulders shaking as he dragged his hands down his face. “I don’t know how to move on.”

Hailey didn’t even think. She just reached for him, placing a firm, steady hand on top of his, squeezing tightly. "You don’t have to know how." Her voice was calm, even as her heart clenched, "You just have to keep going."

Jay’s breath came shaky, uneven. His fingers curled under hers, gripping onto her like she was the only thing keeping him upright. He didn’t say anything else.

And Hailey didn’t push him to. She just sat there, her hand over his, and let him breathe for the first time in months. And for the first time since they met, she felt an ounce of hope that they were finally turning a corner.

Hailey shifts on her feet, arms crossed over her chest as she stares at the closed door in front of them. The house belongs to an elderly couple, one of the few homeowners in the area who was actually willing to talk to them, let alone check their security cameras. It’s been five minutes, but it feels like an eternity with her partner missing. Again.

The air between them is strangely heavy. Vanessa sighs, glancing at Hailey before clearing her throat, “Look—” She stops, hesitating for a beat before finally spitting it out. “What I said earlier about Jay and Avery… I shouldn’t have said it like that.”

Hailey’s jaw tenses, arms crossed over her chest, but she glances over and plasters on a small smile. “It’s fine.”

But Vanessa knows that’s a lie. She lives with Hailey, and she’s seen it firsthand. She shifts, glancing down briefly before speaking again, voice softer. “I know this isn’t easy for you. And I wasn’t trying to throw it in your face.”

“I mean, it’s not like it’s a secret,” Hailey forces her voice to remain neutral, unfazed. Like it doesn’t cut deep in her chest every time she sees them laugh together, every time she sees the casual but intimate touches. Every time she sees the way he looks at Avery, that she ignored for way too long. "They don’t exactly try to hide it."

Vanessa studies her for a second, eyes searching before she exhales, giving her a look that says she doesn’t believe a damn word of that.

With a roll of her eyes, Hailey digs her nails into her arms, hoping it will help her lie easily. "I don’t need anyone tiptoeing around me. It’s not a big deal.”

"Okay," she nods, but there’s something knowing in her tone. A beat of silence. Then Vanessa says what no one else has, what she’s been wanting to say for a while. “It’s just… it’s fast, you know?” She crosses her arms. "Him going back to her."

Hailey tenses. “They have history.” The words feel flat, detached, like they were plucked from the most logical part of her brain. The part that refuses to let herself feel.

Vanessa watches her, then nods slowly, “Yeah. They do.”

That’s the part that hurts the most. Because Hailey always knew. She had a front row seat as Jay lost himself in grief, saw the way he loved Avery so much that it almost destroyed his entire life. The way he didn’t even want to exist in the world without her. And she tried to help him put the pieces back together; she accepted that part of him would always love Avery. But she thought that what they had was strong enough.

Then she watched him get the call that Avery was alive, stood by him when he saw her again for the first time. And she knew. Deep down, she knew they were over before they even began.

But it killed her that Jay didn’t just fall back into it—he ran straight into her arms. Like he was just biding his time, waiting for her.

Vanessa sighs, shifting her stance, “Sorry, I’m not trying to make it worse. I get it, you know?” She gives the blonde a small, almost hesitant smile. “Breakups suck. Even when you try to pretend they don’t.”

Hailey exhales sharply through her nose, rolling her shoulders like she’s trying to shake something off. She forces a tight, thin smile. “I appreciate it, Vanessa. But it doesn’t matter right now. Let’s just focus on finding them.”

Vanessa watches her for a second longer, like she’s waiting for Hailey to crack, but when she doesn’t, she just gives a small nod.

Then the door opens, and an older woman peeks out, her face creased with concern. “Here’s all the footage from the doorbell camera.”

Hailey immediately straightens, stepping forward, “Thank you.”

The woman hands over a USB drive, nodding, “We heard the crash earlier but when we looked out and saw nobody in the car, we didn’t want to get involved. You know how it can be around here.”

"You’re doing the right thing,” Vanessa takes the drive, offering a tight smile. “This could help us find them."

The woman nods again, clearly worried, “I hope you do.”

Back in their car, Vanessa quickly plugs it into the laptop, the screen glowing as she clicks on the video. Hailey leans in, her stomach tightening as it starts playing. The timestamp reads 07:27 AM. The street is quiet at first, before Jay’s truck approaches with its lights on. Then black SUVs block them in from both directions before a third crashes into them.

Hailey's heart pounds, her nails digging into her palms as she watches the scene unfold. A group of men descend upon the truck, weapons drawn, moving fast and calculated. They’re trained, organized. This isn’t just some gangbanger with a grudge or some dealer they put in prison wanting revenge.

This was a strategic abduction, by men who didn’t even hesitate. If they were after Jay, they would’ve just killed Avery right there. No witnesses.

But they wanted both of them.

The team is pissed—beyond pissed—and the only thing keeping them from falling apart is the desperate need to move, to act, to find them.

And that starts with David Lang.

The moment he steps into the bullpen, everyone stops what they’re doing.

Kim’s arms are crossed tight, Kevin’s jaw is clenched, and Adam—Adam looks like he’s about three seconds away from putting Lang through a wall. Hailey doesn’t even try to mask the way her hands flex near her gun, her entire body rigid as she watches Voight step into Lang’s personal space in the middle of the room.

His shoulders roll back, trying to maintain some bullshit bravado, but it flickers under the weight of their stares. “Well, this is welcoming.”

Voight doesn’t blink, doesn’t move. His voice is razor-sharp, cutting through the room like a blade, "Don’t." Lang’s expression tightens slightly, his confidence faltering as Voight takes one step closer. “Start talking.”

Lang tilts his head. “About what, exactly? You’re the one who called me in here without any details.”

Wrong answer. Adam’s chair scrapes loudly against the floor as he lunges forward, but Kim is quicker, her hand locking around his arm, fingers digging in. She barely holds him back. “About how the hell Avery and Jay got ambushed and are now missing.” His voice rises with every word, sharp with barely contained rage. “And how you are the only damn person outside this room who knew what they’ve been working on.”

Voight doesn’t let Lang argue, “We found a tracker on Halstead’s truck.”

Lang’s face shifts, a crack in his composure.

“This wasn't random,” Hailey says coldly before he can recover. "This was planned. Organized. It had to be Volkov."

Lang drags a hand down his face, exhaling sharply, "I didn’t set them up."

Adam laughs, short and bitter, something dark twisting behind his eyes. "Then tell us who did."

“I told Clarke I wasn’t the mole, and that’s the truth.” Lang hesitates before continuing, “But after she and Halstead confronted me, I told a few people on the task force about her. People I trust.”

Voight pounces, eyebrows raised into his hairline, “People you trust?”

Lang swallows hard, shifting on his feet. "I told Clarke we could work together, and she was dodging my calls. I had to do something."

His voice drops into something lethal, something that makes the room hold its breath. "One of those people you trust just handed them over to Nikolai Volkov on a silver fucking platter."

Lang inhales sharply. “Look, I didn’t think—”

“No shit, you didn’t think!” Kim snaps, her voice so loud it surprises even herself. “Jay and Avery are missing because of you!”

Lang winces, dragging a hand over his jaw, his stance faltering as the full weight of the team’s fury bears down on him. He never meant for Avery to get hurt.

But Voight has lost all patience, "Names. Now."

“It was a handful of agents from the task force,” Lang exhales slowly. “Harrison, Dalton, Anderoff, Vega, and Jones.”

The room stills.

“You better hope we find them alive,” Voight says, voice low and cold. His eyes bore straight into Lang, unblinking, unforgiving. “Otherwise, the entire weight of the Chicago Police Department is coming down on you.”

Adam steps outside, his heart hammering, each beat slamming against his ribs like it’s trying to break free. His breath comes too fast, too sharp, like he can’t get enough air. His hands are on his hips, fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket, his head bowed, body rigid with tension.

Everything inside him is screaming. Rage. Fear. Helplessness. It’s boiling over, twisting into something he can’t contain, something that makes his chest feel too tight, his skin too hot.

Jay and Avery are gone. And no one knows where the hell they are. It’s the same way he felt just over two years ago, listening on the other end as his best friend disappeared. Just a few months ago, when his teammate lay bleeding out on the concrete floor.

He squeezes his eyes shut, forcing himself to breathe, but all he can hear is Avery’s voice—sarcastic, sharp. Alive.

And now? Silence.

His stomach twists violently. Because he can’t do this again. He can’t lose her again, not like the first time, not like the way he lost Al.

A door creaks behind him. Adam doesn’t turn, just lets himself exist for a few seconds under the illusion that it’s his partner checking up on him.

Hailey waits for half a second, watching him, before stepping forward. Her footsteps are light, careful, but not hesitant. She stops beside him, arms crossed tightly, face set in that same controlled, unreadable mask she always wears when she’s trying not to break. He was there for her the last time, and she wants to be strong. But inside? Inside, she’s just as wrecked as he is.

Because Jay is gone, too. Gone, again, and it’s killing her. And despite how much it hurts, despite the part of her that still wants to fight for him, still wants him to look at her the way he used to, all she can think about is getting him back. Making sure he’s alive, because that matters more than anything.

Neither of them says anything at first.

Then Adam exhales sharply, raking both hands down his face. “We should be out there.” His words are sharp, clipped, his breath still too uneven, “We should be doing something.”

Hailey doesn’t argue, because she agrees. Every fiber of her being is screaming the same thing.

But Adam—Adam is about to spiral. And she can’t let that happen. "Listen to me," she says firmly, but not unkind. She steps closer, expression softening just slightly, her eyes steady, grounding. “I know how bad this is.”

Adam’s jaw flexes, his shoulders so tense it looks painful.

Hailey presses on. “I know how much you want to go rogue and start breaking down doors. I want to do the same damn thing.” She swallows hard, her gaze flickering away for just a second before she meets his eyes again. "But we can't."

Adam scoffs, shaking his head, “We have a list of names, and one of those bastards—"

She cuts him off sharply, "You have a baby on the way, Adam."

That stops him cold. His chest rises and falls, his breath catching for just a second, his shoulders going rigid.

Hailey sees it hit him hard, but she doesn’t stop. "You can’t run off half-cocked at the Feds. You think Avery would want you throwing everything away for her?”

Adam’s hands curl into fists, his nostrils flaring, his whole body still coiled tight like a live wire about to snap. But he isn’t pacing anymore. He isn’t on the verge of self-destruction.

She softens her voice, giving him a moment, letting him breathe. She steps closer, forcing Adam to look at her, to really hear her. “We are going to find them. The right way.”

His throat works, his breathing still too heavy, too uneven. Finally, he exhales slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. Adam drags a hand down his face, letting out a shaky breath. He meets her eyes, some of the fire burning off. “Okay.”

Hailey exhales slowly, nodding before tilting her head toward the door. "Come on. Let's go find them."

The air in the bullpen is suffocating, thick with the kind of desperation that coils in the gut and refuses to let go. Papers are scattered across desks, notes pinned haphazardly to the whiteboard, maps taped up and marked with locations, connections, timelines—all centered around one name. Volkov.

Avery’s files are spread out across the table, her research, her undercover notes—everything she collected, everything she risked her life to gather.

They need something to go on—anything.

Because Avery and Jay have been missing for hours, and the longer they’re gone, the worse the odds get.

“There has to be something we missed,” Hailey says, her frustration evident as she flips through another set of documents, scanning every page with a laser focus.

Adam shakes his head, exhaling sharply. “We’re running in circles.” His fingers tap anxiously against the edge of the table, his knee bouncing as he leans forward. “We should be going after the Feds. Volkov’s got more damn shell businesses than we can count—”

“Then we count again,” Voight cuts through the room, gruffly, his patience razor thin. “Because we’re not leaving here until we find them.”

Kevin rubs a hand down his face, scanning the latest list of locations tied to Volkov, but they’ve already checked half of them.

Kim sighs, flipping through one of Avery’s old logs. "I don’t get it. Avery was under for two years. She knew this organization inside and out. There’s no way she didn’t leave us something that points to where Volkov’s keeping them.”

Adam scrubs a hand over his jaw, frustration mounting, “Yeah, well, she didn’t exactly expect to be kidnapped again when she made these files.” Kim just gives him a look—one that says she knows he’s freaking out, but she’s not engaging right now. He exhales slowly with an apologetic shrug.

Hailey suddenly stiffens. "Wait." The room shifts instantly, all eyes snapping to her. Her fingers tighten on the page she’s holding—one of Avery’s personal logs, her handwriting scrawled along the margins. She flips through the pages quickly, scanning the notes, her pulse kicking up speed.

“What is it?” Voight steps closer, his expression darkening.

She drags a map closer, marking a location on the South Side, “Another warehouse.”

Adam leans in immediately, frowning. “We already hit all his known properties. If this was on our radar, we would’ve checked it.”

Hailey shakes her head, pointing to the page. “This—this wasn’t in the case files Lang gave us. She flagged it a few weeks ago.”

Adam is already moving. “It’s worth a shot. We need to go—now.”

“Hold on.” Voight’s voice stops him in his tracks. He looks at the map, his expression unreadable. Then, he exhales through his nose, nodding once. “We go in tactically.”

The team scrambles as they rush downstairs, holding their breath. Because this is the only lead they have.

They roll up fast, tires screeching slightly as they come to a sudden stop down the block from the warehouse. The team moves like a well-oiled machine, vests strapped tight over their blackout uniforms, weapons drawn.

The place is quiet. Too quiet.

Adam’s pulse pounds in his ears, his grip tight on his rifle as he moves into position. Beside him, Hailey’s jaw is locked, her eyes sharp and deadly focused.

Voight stands at the front, body rigid, his gaze sweeping the dimly lit exterior of the warehouse. “We move in quiet,” he orders lowly. “No one fires unless you have to.”

They split, lining up on each side. Kevin gives a short, succinct nod.

Adam steps forward. And with one sharp, controlled motion—

He kicks the door in.

Avery tugs him forward by the front of his shirt, her grip tight, sure, and he follows eagerly, letting her press him back against the door. Her breath is warm against his lips, teasing, daring, “If you’re my boyfriend again, you might as well enjoy the perks.” Her voice is soft, playful, but there’s a heat beneath it.

Jay huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as he nudges his nose against hers, “Pretty sure I was already enjoying the perks.” Her fingers slip under his shirt, pinching his side—hard. "Ow!" He grins, but the sharp sting barely registers.

Because she’s kissing him again, deep and desperate, her body slotting against his like she belongs there. And God—she does.

He groans softly, dragging her closer, his hands gripping at her waist, his body already burning for her. Jay barely has time to register they’re moving before his knees hit the bed, and then he’s falling back, pulling her with him.

Avery straddles him, pressing her hips down against his hard length. “Relax, Halstead,” Avery mumbles against his lips, pulling away just enough to breathe. “I’ve got you this time.”

He swears under his breath, his hands gripping her thighs, squeezing—grounding himself in the feel of her. "I like the sound of that.”

Arching an eyebrow, she drags her hands down his chest, teasing at the hem of his shirt. “Yeah?” Avery flips her hair over her shoulder and rolls her hips just slightly, feeling the way his abs tense under her touch, how his breath stutters.

"Yeah." His voice is rough, wrecked already, as he lifts his arms, letting her pull his shirt over his head.

Avery takes her time. She tosses his shirt aside before pulling her own off, letting it fall to the floor, then reaches behind her and unclasps her bra. Jay sits up immediately, lips on her before she can even drop the lace to the ground. His hands cup her tits, his tongue flicking over her nipple, his teeth grazing gently. She bites her lip, her nails digging into his shoulders as she arches her chest into his mouth. “I like when you do that,” she moans, rocking her hips harder, needier.

 “I know,” he smirks into her skin, low and teasing, grunting when she grinds her hips just right.

She laughs breathlessly, shaking her head at his cocky arrogance—but she can’t even argue. Because he’s right. Avery lifts herself just enough to shove her pants and panties down, leaving her completely bare above him.

He drags his hands up her thighs, his fingers skimming dangerously close to where she’s aching for him. His eyes darken, full of nothing but hunger, “Christ.” His thumbs spread her open, groaning at the way she’s already soaked for him.

Avery watches his reaction, watches the way he stares between her legs absolutely mesmerized, and it sends a thrill up her spine. It’s not often that she takes control in the bedroom, loving the way he dominates things. But when she does, she can’t deny how empowering it is to have someone like Jay completely at her mercy. She reaches between them, palming him through his jeans, feeling how hard he is for her, how much he wants her. “These are in my way,” she whispers.

Jay doesn’t hesitate. She rises on her knees so he can push his jeans and boxers down, kicking them off. His cock springs free, thick and aching, and she immediately wraps her fingers around him, swiping her thumb across the tip and stroking slowly. He groans, his hands flexing against her hips, his restraint hanging by a thread, "Stop teasing, baby." When she doesn’t—just keeps dragging him through her slick folds, coating him in her arousal—Jay grits his teeth and sits up, prepared to flip her onto her back.

“No,” she pushes against his chest, pinning him down. “You don’t get to be in charge.”

His eyes widen slightly, breath hitching, as he stares up at her. His grip on her tightens, kneading her slowly, deliberately. "Not even a little?"

She shakes her head, lining him up at her entrance, “I’m in control.” Then Avery sinks down, taking him deep, stretching around him perfectly.

Jay throws his head back, groaning deep in his chest, “Fuck.” His hands grip her waist, his hips instinctively jerking up, filling her completely. “You feel so fucking good.”

She barely gives herself time to adjust before bracing her hands against his chest and moving. It’s slow at first, controlled, her hips rolling in lazy, deep circles.

“Avery,” he warns, his fingers digging into her ass with a deliciously painful bite. She smirks down at him, deliberately moving slower, dragging it out, making him suffer. Jay exhales through his nose, trying to stay still, watching her, his eyes dark, his breath uneven.

Then he decides to tease her back, pressing his thumb against her clit hard. Her head falls back and even though it’s fun to torture him, she needs more. Avery lifts herself up, letting him slip almost completely out of her—then she drops back down and starts bouncing on his cock.

He groans at the feel of her, at the way her thighs tremble as she rides him hard and fast. Jay watches her, completely fucking gone—his hands gripping her ass, his cock pounding into her from below. She’s so goddamn beautiful like this—head tilted back, lips parted, eyes closed, her nails digging into his chest as she takes him deep. His jaw clenches, his abs flexing every time she grinds down, every time her cunt clenches around him like she never wants to let him go.

“You’re so fucking perfect like this, Ave,” Jay growls, his fingers tightening on her hips, guiding her movements. “Using me to get yourself off,” he murmurs, his voice gravelly, teasing.

“Yes,” she pants, supporting herself on his chest as she rides him harder, faster. Her breath stutters, her body shuddering from the way he fills her completely, the way he stretches her so perfectly.

He groans, his grip tightening. “Fuck, that’s it,” he praises, grabbing handfuls of her ass. Jay stops her from falling back down on him long enough to reach a hand between her legs, coating his fingers in her slick. He moves it around, his wet fingers trailing between her cheeks, teasing at the tight ring of muscle there.

Avery gasps, her body tensing for half a second before she melts into it. “Jay,” she moans, her nails biting into his skin.

He smirks up at her, at the blissed out look on her face, “You want it?” His finger teases her rim, pressing just slightly, just enough to make her shudder.

She nods frantically, her moans turning desperate, her movements growing faster, more erratic. “Yes,” she whimpers. “God, yes.”

He chuckles, pressing his finger deeper, pushing her further into the edge of pleasure. “You love being full of me,” Jay grits out, his tone dark and sinful. She moans loudly, holes clenching around him, her entire body tightening. He feels her start to tremble, feels her grinding harder, chasing her high. “You’re in control, right? So, tell me what you want.”

“I want—” Avery gasps, unable to get the words out as her brows draw together in concentration.

But he knows exactly what she wants. “You want my cum?” he growls lowly, his breath ragged as he meets her thrusts. Her mouth falls open in a silent cry as she starts to lose her rhythm—she’s so close. He can feel it. “Use your words.”

“Yes!” she sobs out. “I want it—want it dripping out of me after. Fuck!”

Jay curses, his entire body coiling tight, heat pooling low in his stomach as his cock throbs inside her at how filthy she is for him. "You gonna come like this?" he pants, his finger slipping further inside and curling as his cock hits so deep it makes Avery cry out.

Her orgasm rips through her, her walls clamping down around him, milking him, her body shaking as she screams his name, completely fucking gone for him.

He snaps, his hips jerking up into her, his cock throbbing as Jay spills inside her, filling her just like she wanted. His groan is deep, guttural, his fingers bruising against her skin, his head dropping back against the pillow as pleasure overtakes him completely.

Avery keeps moving in lazy circles, riding out the high for as long as she can before the shaking of her thighs becomes too much and she collapses onto his chest. They stay like that, panting, wrecked, tangled together. She can feel him inside her, still thick, still buried deep, his cum leaking out of her, warm and perfect and exactly where she wants him.

“Jesus,” Jay chuckles breathlessly, shaking his head. His hands drag up her spine, rubbing slow, soothing circles.

She grins, pressing a soft kiss to his damp skin, her lips brushing over his racing pulse. “You liked that?” she teases, nipping at his jaw, smug as hell.

His chest rumbles underneath her with a deep laugh, “Maybe I should let you take control more often.”

Lifting her head just enough to look up at him, Avery arches a brow, “Let me?”

Jay laughs again, tugging the ends of her hair with his fingers. His lips pull into a smirk at the way her breath hitches from the small twinge, knowing exactly what it does to her.

“Jerk,” she mumbles, biting back a smile. They fall into a comfortable silence, their breaths finally starting to even out. But she doesn’t roll off him, doesn’t let his cock fall out of her even as it softens. Her fingertips trailing down his arm until she reaches his hand, entwining their fingers. Avery eventually speaks, her voice quiet, “Can I tell you something?”

He traces invisible shapes against her lower back, his touch occasionally dipping teasingly, loving the way it makes her tense. “Of course.”

Raising her head, she rests her other hand on his chest and props her chin on the back of it. When she meets his gaze, looks into his gorgeous green eyes, she can’t help but smile softly. “Earlier, when you called yourself my boyfriend,” Avery feels her cheeks flush, “it gave me butterflies.”

“Aw, babe,” he teases. “That’s so embarrassing.”

“Shut up!” she gapes at him, pushing herself up when he starts to laugh.

But he can’t help it, especially when her lips pull into an adorable pout. “Hey, hey,” Jay tightens his hold when she tries to pull away, “I’m sorry. I think it’s adorable that you have such a crush on me.”

Avery huffs a laugh but stops struggling, not really wanting to leave the warmth of his arms. “You’re the worst.”

He hums before rolling her onto her back, blanketing her body with his and making her inhale sharply as he settles between her legs. “Don’t worry,” Jay brushes his nose against hers before pecking her on the lips, teasing her. “I have a crush on you too.”

Avery spots Adam leaning against the hood of his car, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his jaw clenched so hard she swears it might crack. His eyes are locked on the pavement like he's trying to burn a hole through it.

She hesitates for a moment, watching him as his words replay in her mind. She knew this was coming. Knew Adam wouldn't just let it go—because Adam never lets things go when it comes to his people. Finally, she steps forward.

He doesn't turn at the sound of her footsteps, but she knows he's aware of her. He always is. "Figured you'd come find me," Adam mutters, finally breaking the silence.

Avery exhales, shifting her weight. "Yeah, well, I'm stubborn like that."

That earns her a half-scoff, half-laugh, but he still doesn't lift his head.

She takes a step closer, hands shoved into her jacket pockets. "I get why you're upset."

Adam finally looks at her, his expression hard, but beneath the anger and the frustration, there's hurt. Deep, unshakable hurt. "I don't think you do, Avery." She swallows hard but doesn't say anything. "You let us think you were dead," he eventually continues, his voice rising slightly. "Do you know what that did to us? To me?" His brows arch, his tone accusing, "Do you know what that did to Voight?"

She presses her lips together, nodding. Avery thinks about Justin, about the long conversations she had with Hank when she told him the truth. "I do."

Adam scoffs, shaking his head, "Do you?" He lets out a bitter laugh. "You think you get to just come back and expect us to be okay with this?"

"No," she says honestly.

Adam exhales, dragging a hand down across his forehead. "Fuck, Avery—"

"Jay wasn't going to stop," she cuts in, her voice stronger now. "And if he kept going, he was going to get himself killed. He was putting himself in danger. He was putting me in danger." Her throat tightens, her chest aching with the memory, "I was trying to protect him."

His brows draw together, anger flickering with something else. Understanding.

She takes a breath, "I had no choice. But there is more to the story." Avery clenches her jaw. "Jay and Voight were supposed to know the truth. That was the deal."

Adam straightens, his face going slack with a mix of surprise and confusion. "What?"

"I wrote them letters. I wanted to leave it to Hank to decide who else should know." She shakes her head, exhaling sharply as the anger returns in a fresh wave, "But Lang never gave it to them. And he lied to me about it."

His hands curl into fists, eyes searching her face for any sign that she is lying. But Adam still knows her. "I never liked that guy."

Avery lets out a shaky laugh, her voice wavering just slightly, "Yeah, well, you're not alone." She takes another step forward, her eyes locked onto his. "You have every right to be angry. Maybe it was selfish. After everything he did, I wanted to be the one to bring Nikolai down. And I know it hurt you."

Glancing at her, his chest rises and falls with heavy breaths. Adam turns away briefly, running a hand through his hair before looking back at her. "You don't know what it was like. Watching Jay fall apart. Watching Voight pretend like he was fine when we all knew he wasn't. And I—" his voice cracks slightly and he sniffs, staring at the ground. "I lost my best friend. My family." He swallows hard, his voice thick with emotion, "And I thought that I listened to you die."

Avery steps closer until there's barely any space between them. "I know," she says again, quieter this time. "And I'm sorry."

He stares at her, his jaw tight—but his eyes soften just slightly.

"You're still my family, Adam." She hesitates for half a second, then reaches out, resting a hand on his arm. "That hasn't changed."

Adam exhales and slowly, his shoulders relax. He shakes his head, letting out a dry chuckle. "You really are a pain in the ass, you know that?"

She cracks a small, wry smile, "So I've heard."

He sighs, finally looking at her again, and this time—it's different. The anger isn't gone completely, but the hurt isn't all that's left anymore. Then, in one swift movement, he pulls her into a tight, crushing hug. Avery freezes for a second before she melts into it, wrapping her arms around him just as tightly.

"I hate you," Adam mutters against her shoulder.

She lets out a choked laugh, patting his back, "No, you don't."

"Yeah, well, I hate that you made me go through all that shit." He leans back just slightly, "You better not pull something like that again."

"Wouldn't dream of it," she grins and pinches his cheek.

He rolls his eyes, but there's a small, reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You know, I spent two years drinking to your memory." Adam tilts his head, "Kinda feel like I deserve some sort of refund."

Avery lets out a laugh, real and unfiltered, while nudging his shoulder. "I'll buy you a beer, and we'll call it even." He just shakes his head with a chuckle and drapes his arm over her shoulders as they head back towards the district. "So, are we good?"

"Yeah, we're good." He eyes her as they walk, curiosity flashing across his face. "Is this why you've been sneaking around with Jay? Been running your own little op?"

"Yup," she nods, biting her lip. "That and we've been sleeping together."

"What?!" Adam chokes out, eyes widening. He blinks before realizing, "Kim owes me twenty bucks."

Avery laughs, shaking her head, "Probably why she didn't tell you."

He scoffs at the mild betrayal, studying her profile for a few moments. "You okay?"

She hesitates for a second, then nods. "Yeah, I mean... I think we're back together?" A small, natural smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. "I don't know. Things have been good."

Adam lets out a low whistle at the lovesick look on her face, "You and Halstead are like watching a damn soap opera. You better not start making eyes across the bullpen again. I've liked being able to keep my lunch down." He laughs as she pushes him off her, rolling her eyes. "This mean I'm not gonna get punched again any time soon?"

She snorts, "I wouldn't go that far."

"Hey," he feigns offense, "Is that any way to talk to the father of your godchild?"

Avery turns around, stopping him in his tracks with a hand on his chest. "Seriously?"

His eyes soften and he gives the smallest nod. "There's no one we'd trust more than you and Kev."

Her heart swells with emotion, and she blinks back the tears that cloud her vision. Avery lifts a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, brushing it off, "Don't get all sappy on me now."

"And I guess Jay would make a good step-godparent."

She groans, pushing him away again, "You're so annoying."

They laugh as they head inside, quickly making their way up to the bullpen.

Jay turns at the bubbly sound of her laugh, eyes flicking between them skeptically. He takes a step toward them, searching her face for any sign of distress. "You guys good?"

Glancing between them, Adam nods, "We're good." He then arches an eyebrow at Jay, not easily forgetting what happened in the locker room. "Are we good?"

He shrugs, crossing his arms, "I'm good if you're good."

"Okay," Avery rolls her eyes, "I think it's been established that we're all good. Can we move on now?"

Adam smiles, tilting his head toward the whiteboard that the rest of the team is gathered around. "Let's get to work."

The bar is crowded, the air thick with laughter, the low hum of conversation, and the occasional clatter of glasses behind the counter. It’s the kind of noise Avery used to tune out, the kind that felt too distant—like something she could observe but not touch. Something she didn’t deserve to be a part of anymore.

But tonight? Tonight, it feels different. Tonight, her team—her family—knows the truth. And they’re still here.

She leans against the table, idly swirling the last sip of her drink in her glass, watching as Adam and Kevin argue over sports, their voices louder than necessary, arms flying in exasperation. Kim is caught between them, laughing into her club soda, and Hailey sits back with an amused smirk, quietly nursing her drink, enjoying the spectacle.

It feels good to be here. To be back, really back. To not feel like she’s standing on the outside, watching from afar.

Under the table, Jay’s hand rests on her thigh, his thumb idly stroking slow, lazy circles. It’s casual, absentminded, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

But she does. It feels good. Normal. She studies his profile, smiling when his green eyes tick towards her.

It feels real.

Adam suddenly slaps a hand down on the table, making Kevin nearly spill his beer. "Alright!" He points directly at Avery, his grin wide and mischievous, "Next round’s on Ave!"

She scoffs, sitting up, “Says who?” That makes Jay laugh, shaking his head as he takes another sip of his drink. His grip on her tightens just slightly, fingers warm through the fabric of her jeans, and it sends a tingle up her spine.

“Says you.” Adam arches a brow, his words slurred just enough to tell her the drinks are already hitting him. “We agreed you owe me a beer. And by that logic, you owe at least one to everyone on the team.”

Avery rolls her eyes, knowing damn well arguing is pointless. Instead, she throws back the last of her drink before sliding out of her seat. “Fine. But I’m cutting you off soon, Ruz. Kim shouldn’t have to deal with your drunk ass snoring all night.”

He waves her off, already leaning into Kevin for another loud, drunken debate.

Navigating through the crowd, Avery makes her way to the bar, easily flagging down Stella, who greets her with a nod before starting on the order. The drinks are just being placed in front of her when she hears her name.

“Avery?”

She glances over her shoulder, blinking in surprise as a familiar woman approaches with a wide smile. Shit. “Oh. Hey,” Avery hesitates, her brain blanking entirely.

The woman tilts her head, waiting. “Kara.”

Pasting on a fake smile, she nods, trying to sound like she hadn’t completely forgotten. “Right, hey.”

Kara doesn’t pick up on it and smirks, her eyes flicking over Avery, her expression sharp with something knowing. “Haven’t seen you come by the bar in a while.”

Scratching the back of her neck, Avery forces a casual laugh. “Yeah, I’ve just been… busy.”

She steps closer, her voice lowering slightly, “You haven’t texted me back.”

Ah. Avery shifts, grabbing one of the beers just to have something to do, taking a long, slow swig. “I actually had to change my number. Y'know… Cop stuff.”

Kara doesn’t pick up on the lie, just dances her fingers toward where her hand rests on the bar. “I was hoping we could hang out again.”

Before she can touch her, Avery brings her hand to her side and tries to figure out how to politely wrap this up. Then she suddenly feels it—the heat of someone else's gaze on her back. And, of course, it’s at this exact moment that Jay comes up from behind.

He immediately clocks the situation—the way Kara's standing just a little too close, the way Avery looks slightly cornered, the way the redhead's posture shifts just enough to radiate flirtation. His brows lift slightly, but instead of stepping in right away, he lingers for a second, watching. Curious. Then, smoothly, he slides in beside Avery, grinning. “Thought you might need a hand with the drinks.”

Kara’s gaze flickers past Avery’s shoulder, landing on Jay, her curiosity evident.

Jay doesn’t miss a beat. Like it’s second nature, he wraps an arm low around Avery’s waist, tugging her just the slightest bit closer, his fingers dipping under the hem of her shirt to brush against her skin. It’s territorial without being obvious, possessive without being over the top. It’s just enough to make a statement.

She freezes for half a second, feeling the warmth of his touch, before clearing her throat. "Uh, Kara, this is Jay. He's my..." Avery hesitates. She’s not sure how to describe him.

Jay, however, doesn’t hesitate at all, “Her boyfriend.” He says it so easily, so smoothly—like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Avery nearly chokes on her drink, her lips parting slightly in surprise, but she keeps her cool. She feels her face heat at Jay's casual, almost smug tone. Boyfriend. He's never said that out loud before. Not this time, at least, and she’s been too afraid to broach the topic.

Kara blinks at him, then looks back at her with a quirked brow. "Oh? I didn’t realize you played for both teams.”

Jay snorts, biting back a laugh, his grip on Avery’s hip tightening just slightly through the fabric of her jacket.

Her smirk fades instantly, her jaw tightening as her eyes linger on his hand. “Lose my number,” she spits out before storming off.

Avery raises an eyebrow, calling after her lamely, “I mean, I already blocked it, but okay.” Jay is grinning, amused as hell, and she glares at him. "Don't."

"Damn,” Jay laughs, shaking his head. “What did you do to her?"

She rests her forehead in her hand, scrunching up her face. “We had one mediocre hookup after I got back, and then I ghosted her. Clearly, she doesn’t handle rejection well.”

He hums, tugging her a step toward him until her chest is flushed with his. "I mean, I can't really blame her. You've had me whipped for years."

She rolls her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips despite herself, “Shut up.” Avery tilts her head, studying him, "I thought you’re the jealous type now. Or is that reserved just for Ruz?"

Jay shrugs, fingers digging into her hips. "Difference is, I know who you’re coming home with tonight.”

Avery bites her lip, feeling her stomach flip at that. Her voice drops just slightly, but she keeps a teasing lilt, "My boyfriend, right?" There’s a nervous edge to it, like she’s afraid of the answer—afraid he said it just to help her out of an awkward situation.

Jay doesn’t blink. Doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t waver.

“Yeah.”

Her heart skips a beat. It’s not just the sex. It’s not just the history.

It’s him.

It’s them.

Avery’s hand travels across his chest, tongue poking out across her bottom lip as she peers up at him under fluttering lashes. "Then you should take me home, Halstead."

His grin deepens, his fingers skimming up her spine before he takes her hand in his, squeezing firmly. "Don’t have to tell me twice." Jay barely glances at their friends, pointing to the drinks on the counter to get Kevin’s attention before dragging her out of the bar and back to his bed.

The morning air is crisp, the sky still dusted with the soft hues of dawn as Jay drives through the quiet streets, the city still waking up. The radio hums low in the background, blending with the sound of Avery’s voice.

“I'm just going to say it—I am not a fan of this new dynamic."

Jay glances over, brow furrowing as Avery props her elbow on the window, an adorable pout on her face. He lets out a mocking scoff, fingers tapping against the steering wheel. “What dynamic?”

“You driving feels wrong,” Avery gestures toward him before grinning, eyes crinkling around the corners. “I like you better as my passenger princess.”

Jay narrows his eyes at her like she’s personally offended him, fighting to keep a straight face when he sees how happy she looks. He spent two years dreaming of that smile and now, he’d do anything to keep it on her face for just one more second. “I’m a better driver.”

She laughs loudly, tilting her chin. “You are the most insane parker I have ever seen in my life.”

Jay huffs, shaking his head, “I get us where we need to go, don’t I?”

“That’s fair,” she hums, her gaze dragging over his face before her tone shifts, playful and low. “You do always get me there.”

He sucks in a sharp breath, his grip on the wheel tightening as his eyes flick toward her, lingering on the way she bites her bottom lip, clearly holding back a victorious smile. He clears his throat, voice dropping dangerously. "If you keep talking like that, I'm gonna have to pull over."

Avery smirks, shifting slightly in her seat, legs crossing deliberately. "Don’t tease me with a good time."

Jay lets out a low groan that makes another laugh bubble past her lips, and he is seriously considering turning his truck around and taking her back to his place instead of work. He opens his mouth to fire back when their radio crackles.

“Report of shots fired on Lincoln and 14th.”

His entire body snaps into focus, hands tightening around the wheel as he straightens on pure instinct, pure muscle memory.

Avery is already reaching for the radio, “5021 Lincoln with 5021 George. We’re in the area, responding now in plain clothes.” Jay flips on the lights, but keeps the sirens off, navigating the streets with practiced ease while her eyes scan their surroundings. But as they get closer and nothing is jumping out at them, she grabs the radio again, “Dispatch, do you have an address?”

Static.

Her stomach knots, a cold slither of unease sliding down her spine. “Dispatch, do you copy?”

No answer.

Jay notices it too, his knuckles flexing against the steering wheel as his gaze bounces between her and the street.

"It's not working." Avery’s brows furrow as she pushes the button, clicks through different channels searching for any kind of response.

Still nothing.

“Something’s wrong.” Jay makes the turn onto Lincoln, his eyes sharp, scanning the area. “I’m going to park around the corner.”

Then, before either of them can react—

A black SUV screeches from the alleyway to their right. Everything happens too fast.

Jay reacts instantly, slamming on the brakes and cursing as he throws the truck into reverse. Another car cuts them off from the back.

“What the fuck?” Avery barely has time to reach for her weapon.

A third SUV slams into them. The force whips them to the side, the seatbelt digging into Avery’s chest as everything tilts. Glass shatters, biting painfully into her skin. Her skull slams against the window, pain exploding behind her eyes as everything turns into a blur of noise, movement, and chaos.

The airbag deploys with a brutal snap, smashing into Jay’s chest, his head whipping forward and cracking against the wheel. The impact is violent, crushing and disorienting.

The entire world spins. Voices reach her ears, too muffled and distorted to make out what they’re saying. Her heart plummets when she registers that they aren’t speaking English. Avery reaches for her gun, but her vision is still swimming, her head pounding from the impact. She can see the blurred outline of Jay getting yanked from the car as her fingers fumble to free her weapon.

Jay fights back, managing to land a brutal punch that sends one of the men staggering back—but another grabs him from behind, and a sharp pain stabs into his neck.

Avery chokes out his name, struggling against the disorienting fog, but her seatbelt is still locked against her chest. Watching as his knees buckle, as he crumbles to the ground in a weightless heap, her heart skips a beat. Flashes of him lying in that cold basement blind her, clouding her already hazy vision. She rips at the seatbelt, fumbling to unclip it, but her fingers feel too slow, too weak.

She finally frees herself, her gun clutched tightly in her grip. She tries to aim but her vision swirls, her ears still ringing, and before she can pull the trigger, the door opens. Avery falls back without the support and her other hand grips the console to catch herself. Her head whips around, pounding heavily, but she doesn’t have time to train weapon gun before a needle plunges into her neck. Her body betrays her instantly, limbs turning to leads as her gun clatters to her feet.

And then everything goes dark.

Jay wakes with a start. For a moment, he's disoriented—caught in that blurred space between sleep and wakefulness, the warmth of Avery's bed surrounding him. The sheets are soft, still scented with her shampoo, the air in the room thick with the remnants of last night. His body aches in the best way, every sore muscle a reminder of just how desperate they'd been for each other. Multiple times.

But then his hand slides across the sheets and he realizes—he's alone.

The loss of her warmth hits him like a slow, creeping chill, and his eyes snap open. The pillow beside him is empty, her spot already cold. A familiar unease crawls up his spine, a flash of old wounds reopening—mornings spent waking up alone, knowing she was gone, knowing he couldn’t save her.

Jay sits up, running a hand down his face before glancing around the dimly lit bedroom. The early morning glow filters through the blinds, painting the room in muted gold. Her clothes are still scattered on the floor, a mess of discarded fabric, but her absence gnaws at him.

Frowning, he swings his legs over the edge of the bed and stands, stretching briefly before grabbing the pair of his sweatpants that she'd stolen and tugging them on. He pads quietly into the hallway, his bare feet brushing against the hardwood, the cool air raising goosebumps along his skin. Jay finds her curled up on the couch, his shirt swallowing her frame, bare legs tucked beneath her. Her hair is still mussed from sleep, one cheek resting lazily in her palm, but she's wide awake—eyes locked on her laptop screen, earbuds in, completely oblivious to his presence.

Something about the sight makes his chest twinge. It’s so achingly domestic, so much like a memory of the past that for a moment now laced with a renewed sense of hope, it’s hard to breathe. But beneath it, he can see the tension in her shoulders, the tightness in her expression.

Leaning against the doorway, Jay crosses his arms over his bare chest. "You know, most people sleep in after a night like last night."

Avery startles slightly, ripping the earbuds out as she glances toward him. "Jesus, Jay," she exhales, pressing a hand to her chest. "Don't sneak up on me."

He bites back an amused grin, "Sorry." His gaze flicks to the laptop, his expression sobering when he catches sight of the waveform moving across the screen. He tilts his chin toward it. “What are you listening to?”

She runs a tired hand over her forehead, "More of the recordings from the deposit box." They’d realized quickly that she had planted her own listening devices, separate from the Feds. Once she realized there was a mole, she didn’t know who to trust. It seems reckless but she must’ve thought it was worth the risk. And now, it’s her best shot at the truth.

Exhaling slowly, Jay pushes off the doorway and walks over, plopping down next to her on the couch. “Anything useful?”

Avery bites her lip, her fingers hovering over the trackpad. "Not sure yet. Apparently, I placed a lot of bugs. Some of them just picked up useless background noise, but others..." Her voice trails off as she clicks on another file, skipping ahead.

Static. Then a voice filters through the speaker.

"She's not going to figure it out."

Avery stiffens. Beside her, Jay immediately straightens, his focus sharp as he feels the tension roll off her in waves.

A few moments go by before the voice speaks again. "She's already in too deep."

Her breath catches. She knows that voice. Her heart starts pounding against her ribs, something cold curling in her stomach.

Then he speaks again—calm, confident. "Don't worry about it. Clarke trusts me."

Avery feels like she's been punched in the gut. Because that voice—the one so effortlessly talking about deceiving her, about controlling what she knows—is one she would recognize anywhere.

David Lang.

Jay's entire body goes rigid at the realization. His jaw clenches so tight she swears she hears his teeth grind. "Motherfucker," he mutters under his breath.

Her breathing is shallow, her fingers tightening into fists as the recording keeps playing.

Lang scoffs, "I can handle her."

Jay curses again, shifting an inch closer, his body practically thrumming with barely contained rage. But she can’t move.

She can't think.

Avery just stares at the screen, at the waveform of Lang's voice, at the undeniable truth playing out in front of her.

She's spent months chasing a ghost.

And all along, it was him.

It was Lang.

The betrayal sinks its teeth into her, rage clawing at her ribs, burning through every nerve ending. Lang pulled her into this only to lie to her, to manipulate her, to use her. Her hands shake as she curls them into fists, nails biting into her palms.

Jay watches her carefully, his chest rising and falling with steady, controlled breaths. "Ave," he says, his voice softer now.

She blinks, snapping back to reality, turning to look at him.

His gaze is steady, unwavering. He reaches out, resting a hand on her leg, his thumb rubbing slow, grounding circles against her skin. "We’ll take him down," he assures her.

Avery swallows hard. She wants to believe him. But the rage is still there, curling like smoke inside her lungs, making it hard to breathe.

Jay squeezes her thigh, his touch anchoring her, pulling her from the spiral. "You're not alone in this," he reminds her gently. "Not anymore."

She looks at him, really looks at him, and for a second, she can breathe again. For a second, she lets herself believe it. But then her eyes flick back to the laptop, to Lang's voice still echoing in her head. She exhales slowly, "I know."

Then she clicks the next recording.

Because if there's one thing she knows for sure, it's that she isn't stopping until she burns Lang's whole goddamn world to the ground.

Avery stares through the front window, watching as Lang sits in the same booth he always did. The mug in his hand, the way he leans back like he owns the place—it’s all the same. But nothing about this feels the same. This diner used to be a refuge, a brief solace in the chaos her life had become. Now, it’s just another battleground. The rage burns hot beneath her skin, barely contained.

Jay is parked outside, waiting. They agreed on this play—well, mostly. He had hesitated, wanting a solid plan, a backup. But one look at her face, at the way her hands shook when she listened to that recording, and he knew there was no talking her down. It took longer than she wanted to get here. Intelligence got caught up in the case with Roman, giving them time, but she’s been itching for this—for answers.

She steps inside, the bell above the door jingling softly. Lang looks up and smiles, the same easy expression he always wore. But the second his gaze locks onto hers—the hard set of her jaw, the dark fire in her eyes—something flickers behind his.

"David," she greets, sliding into the booth.

"Avery," he says skeptically. His eyes scan her, sharp and assessing. “Didn’t expect to hear from you after the last time we spoke."

Last time. The day in Voight’s office. When Lang acted like they were old friends, like he was doing her a favor. The memory flashes behind her eyes, making her grip tighten beneath the table.

She forces a tight-lipped smile, "Guess I'm full of surprises."

Lang leans back, studying her. "What's on your mind?"

Before he can blink, she has the barrel of her gun pressed against his ribs. Lang freezes, his breath hitching as his entire body goes stiff.

Avery tilts her head slightly, voice low, lethal. “Let’s take a walk.”

For a moment, Lang doesn’t move. "Avery—"

"Now."

He glances around the diner, taking in the other patrons, the way she’s positioned to block the weapon from view. He exhales sharply and nods, pushing up from the booth.

She follows closely behind, her gun hidden between them.

The second they step outside, Jay is already there, leaning against his truck with his arms crossed.

Lang stops short, eyes narrowing, "Halstead."

Jay pushes off the truck, stepping forward, "Lang."

"You two really make quite the pair," he quips. Avery shoves him forward, forcing him behind the building. He stumbles slightly, regaining his footing before turning to face them, his hands raised just slightly, palms up. “You don’t know what you’re doing,” he says, measured, watching them both.

Avery clicks the safety off. “How long?”

“Jesus,” Lang huffs a humorless laugh. “What are you talking about?"

She steps in closer, barely restraining herself from pulling the damn trigger, "Tell me how long you've been working for Volkov."

"What?" his brows furrow and if she didn't know better, she'd think he was genuinely confused.

"Don't play dumb," she snaps. "I have the evidence. The burner phones, the wire transfers, the recordings. Clarke trusts me? I can handle her?" Realization starts to dawn on his face, and it only pisses her off more.

"Avery,” he shakes his head. “That's not what you think it is."

Jay takes a step forward, "Then why don't you tell us exactly what it is."

Lang exhales, his eyes darting between them. He’s calculating. Weighing his options. Then, finally, he sighs and mutters under his breath, “Jesus Christ.” His gaze settles on Avery, something shifting.

And for the first time, she doesn’t just see the usual arrogance in his expression. She sees regret.

His brows draw together tightly, “You really don’t remember, do you?” When she tightens her fingers around her gun, Lang rubs a hand over his jaw. “Okay. You want the truth?”

Avery doesn’t respond. She doesn’t need to.

Lang nods to himself before meeting her gaze. “After you decided to stay under, after you made the call to fake your own death, you gave me one condition.”

Everything inside her stills. She remembers making the call. She remembers the decision being hers. But anything after that is blurred around the edges, like almost everything else. Her voice comes out hoarse, “What condition?”

Lang swallows, his voice quieter now. "That I tell Halstead and Voight the truth."

Jay stiffens beside her, his entire body going rigid.

Avery feels like the ground just got ripped out from under her. "What?" she croaks out.

Lang nods. "You even wrote letters. One for him, one for Voight.” He turns to Jay, "She never wanted to lie to you, Jay."

The entire world tilts. Her breath catches in her throat, and then—it all makes sense. Her voice barely breaks the silence, “That’s why you waited so long to see me.” Her stomach churns, realization slamming into her. “You wanted to make sure I didn’t already know. That I didn’t remember.”

He doesn't deny it.

Jay’s body snaps with tension. His voice drops into something dangerously low, “She wanted us to know.” His fists clench. “And you let me think she was dead?”

"I made a call.” Lang’s expression hardens as he looks at Avery, “You wanted Voight to decide who else on your team should know.”

He lets out a bitter, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “You made a call?” His voice is sharp, every syllable laced with pure, unfiltered rage. “You weren’t the one who had to put her in the fucking ground.”

“If you had known,” his jaw tightens, arm gesturing out, “you would’ve blown the whole op trying to get to her. I did what I thought was best.”

Jay steps closer, danger rolling off him in waves. “What was best?” His voice is quieter now, deadlier. “You think it was best to let us believe she was dead? To let her family fucking mourn her?”

There’s nothing Lang can say to that, and he knows it.

Hand shaking slightly, Avery lowers the gun, her entire body numb. Her bottom lip trembles as she looks at Jay, her eyes searching his, trying to make sense of everything. He meets her gaze, and for the first time in a long time, there is no anger there—just pain.

Pain for what could've been.

For what was stolen from them.

For the time they lost.

Jay swallows hard, his voice raw. "Where are the letters?" Lang hesitates for just a moment too long. He steps forward, fury burning in his eyes. "Where the fuck are the letters, Lang?"

"They're gone," he answers with a defeated sag of his shoulders.

The words are barely past his lips when Jay moves, slamming him against the brick wall. Lang grunts, his head snapping back as Jay pins him there, his forearm digging into his chest.

“You don’t get to decide what we would’ve done,” Jay growls through clenched teeth. “You don’t get to play God with people’s lives. My life.”

Lang doesn't struggle, doesn't fight back. He just stares at him. "You really think you would've just sat back?” His tone shifts, challenging, “Your girlfriend? Your partner?"

Jay's silence is answer enough.

Her breath comes in short, uneven bursts. "You—" Avery swallows hard, her throat closing around the words. "You had no right."

"It was my op.” Lang lets out a controlled breath before repeating, “I did what I thought was best."

Jay slams him against the wall again, "You did what was best for you, you son of a bitch."

She can feel his control fraying at the edges. "Jay," she says softly.

Nothing.

"Jay."

Finally, he exhales, his grip loosening, muscles still tight with restraint.

Lang straightens, watching him carefully as he rolls the ache from his shoulders. “You can hate me all you want,” he mutters. “But I swear to you, I’ve never worked for Volkov.” His eyes flick to Avery, “And I never wanted to hurt you.”

Jay turns away with a scoff, running a hand over his tightened jaw as he works to control his breathing.

She watches him for a moment, brows pulled together in concern. She turns back to Lang when he speaks.

"If there's a mole in the DEA, you're going to need me. We can work together on this."

That's what makes her snap. Avery brings her arm back and punches him square in the jaw. Lang grunts as he hits the pavement hard, clutching his face. She stands over him, breathing hard, hands still shaking.

Jay wraps his fingers around her arm, holding her back. Anchoring her.

She pauses. "I'll be in touch," Avery spits out, echoing the words he once told her after she unknowingly signed her life away.

Then she turns, walking away, knowing one thing.

This isn’t over.

Jay grips the edge of the truck bed so tightly his knuckles turn white, his head hanging between his shoulders. His jaw is locked, his chest rising and falling with quick, uneven breaths as he fights to keep himself together.

Avery stands a few feet behind him, watching the rigid set of his shoulders, the way his muscles flex with tension. Her own hands are shoved deep into her pockets, fingers curled into fists to stop herself from turning back around and throwing another punch. Her knuckles still throb, but it’s nothing compared to the ache in her chest.

The cold air is too quiet—the kind of silence that’s deafening. The only sound is Jay’s sharp, measured breathing. Neither of them has said a word since they walked away from Lang.

Since the truth detonated between them like a bomb, shaking everything they thought they knew.

Jay finally exhales, his head still bowed, his voice strained. “I’ve spent weeks trying to hate you.”

She closes her eyes briefly, her breath catching. Avery pulls her lips into a tight line, but she doesn’t say anything.

He swallows hard, his grasp tightening on the cold metal. “Weeks thinking you made that decision. That you chose to keep me in the dark. That you didn’t trust me enough to tell me.” His voice cracks slightly, but he keeps going. “I built up all this fucking anger, all this resentment, because I thought you didn’t care enough to let me know you were alive.” She inhales sharply just as he lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “And it wasn’t even true.”

Avery steps toward him, her voice carefully steady. “Jay—”

“I blamed you,” he cuts in, and it sounds like each word is being ripped from his throat. “Every time I thought about you, every time I looked at you, every time we fought—I blamed you.” Jay exhales sharply, shaking his head. “But you didn’t do it. You wanted me to know. You fucking wrote me a letter.” His breath shudders, “And I never got it.”

She swallows hard, guilt crushing her chest. “I didn’t know,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. “I swear, I didn’t remember.”

He finally stands up straight and turns around. His eyes are dark, clouded. Haunted by ghosts that aren’t really ghosts anymore. “And that makes it so much worse.”

“You think I don’t feel the same way?” she says, her voice shaking. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, her heart pounding against her ribs in an unnatural rhythm. “Jay, I thought I made that choice. I thought I was the one who did this to you. I’ve had to live with that.” A tear escapes the corner of her eye, and Avery quickly swipes it away, glancing at the ground. “I thought I broke you.”

Jay flinches.

Because she did.

And the worst part? She thought it was on purpose.

“But now I know—I didn’t choose that. And you should’ve known the truth.” Her jaw tightens, and she exhales sharply as anger flares in her chest, “We were both lied to.”

They stand there in the open, the taut threads that have been holding them both together quickly fraying. Jay finally breaks the silence, voice hoarse, heavy with the weight of his own realization. “I should’ve known.”

Avery furrows her brows, taking a small step closer. “Jay—”

“I should’ve known you wouldn’t have done that to me.” His jaw clenches in anger—at Lang for lying, at her for not remembering, at himself for not knowing. “Because it’s you, Ave.”

He turns to her fully now, his green eyes burning with something raw. Something completely and utterly destroyed. “Because no matter how fucked up things have been, no matter how much we’ve hurt each other—I should’ve believed in you.” Echoes of past words spoken in hurt tickle the back of his mind.

I never would've given up on you.

He rubs his eyes as if that could rid his memory of her tears, of the pain in her voice as his own wavers, “I never should’ve given up on you.”

Avery’s breath catches. She watches the way his guilt eats at him, the way it carves into him like something deep and festering.

She won’t let him carry this alone.

"Jay," she sighs. "You didn’t."

He shakes his head as he starts to turn away. Avery steps closer, her fingers brushing over his hand and stopping him from creating any more distance between them. He exhales sharply at her touch, his entire body sagging slightly at the silent reassurance it gives.

“I don’t blame you for hating me,” she says softly. “I hated me too.”

Jay closes his eyes, his lips parting slightly, his breath uneven. After a beat, he shifts his hand, turning it palm up, tangling their fingers together. His voice is barely a whisper, and it makes her chest tighten. “I don’t hate you, Ave.” He swallows, blinking to keep the tears at bay and squeezing her hand. “I never did. Not even for a second.”

Avery nods, her throat thick. “I know.”

"I'm so sorry," his voice breaks on a sob as he crumbles into pieces.

“Hey, hey,” she whispers. Avery untangles their fingers and frames his face with both hands, forcing him to look at her. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

His trembling lips part like he wants to argue—to tell her she’s wrong, to tell her he’ll spend the rest of his life making up for it.

But before he can, she presses her thumbs gently along his jaw, calming his rapidly beating heart. "Jay, you thought I was dead. Whether you were supposed to know the truth or not, you didn’t. And you still have to carry that."

Jay lifts a hand to cover one of hers, his fingers curling around it. Then, slowly, he brings their joined hands to his lips, closing his eyes as he presses a lingering kiss to her skin.

She exhales softly, scratching gently at the nape of his neck and pulling his body flush against hers. “No more apologies, okay?” Her voice is steady, certain. “Now we move forward. Together.”

Jay swallows the emotion clogging his throat as he nods. His fingers thread through her hair, his thumb brushing over her cheek as he tilts his head slightly to rest his forehead against hers.

And for the first time since learning the truth about her disappearance, everything else begins to fade. The anger, the guilt, the regret. It doesn’t disappear, not completely.

But it no longer controls them.

Avery feels something shift inside her, something heavy finally lifting—because she tried. That was the thing that had been holding her back the most. Not wanting everyone to know. Not wanting them to hate her.

But she tried.

And Jay knows it now.

She takes a deep breath, pressing her hands to his chest, feeling the steady thumping of his heart beneath her palms. “You were right,” she mutters. “I don’t have to be alone in this.”

Jay watches her closely, carefully, waiting for her next words.

She looks up at him, resolve hardening in her gaze.

“I think it’s time we bring in the team.”

The bullpen is silent. All eyes are on Avery where she stands in front of the white board, arms folded across her chest. She's faced down serial killers, survived the worst kinds of monsters, walked straight into the fire and made it out alive.

But this? This is so much harder. Because this is her family, the only real family she’s ever known. And for two years, they thought she was dead. On purpose or not, it's what happened.

Jay stands next to her, his presence steady, solid—exactly what she needs right now. His fingers brush against her lower back in quiet reassurance that no matter what happens next, she isn't doing this alone. He’s with her.

Voight watches her carefully, his expression unreadable even though he knows everything she's about to say. Well, almost everything. Everyone else stands nearby, the tension in the room thick with unspoken questions.

She takes a breath. Then she starts.

"I know I should have told you the truth sooner," she says, her voice forcibly steady. "And I know you all have questions. You deserve answers." She exhales, eyes ticking down for a moment to gather the strength she needs. "When I was first taken by Nikolai, I wasn't sure how long I'd last. He's smart. Paranoid. Ruthless. He doesn't let people in easily. But after three months, I had him. I helped him take down the Aleksovs, made him trust me enough to let me go."

Jay tenses slightly beside her.

She clenches her jaw. "But before I could contact anyone, Agent Lang found me." Her gaze flickers to Voight, then to Hailey, then back to the rest of them. "I made the call to stay under. I thought I could do more from the inside."

Silence stretches between them, the weight of her words settling.

Avery exhales slowly, arms dropping to her sides. "It was only supposed to be a few months, but then I learned something that changed everything." She lets herself hesitate for a few seconds, fighting back the painful memories. "I found out Volkov was sex trafficking." Her voice is tight, raw, but she pushes through. "I couldn't walk away. I couldn't risk blowing my cover before I got enough evidence."

"But I kept looking for her," Jay adds quietly.

"And because Jay is a great detective," she sends him a small smile that he mirrors, "he was getting too close. So I did the only thing I could think of—I told Lang to have me declared dead."

Adam's breath comes sharp through his nose. Then he shakes his head, stepping back. "Unbelievable."

Avery glances toward him. "Adam—"

"You let us think you were dead," he interrupts through grit teeth. "For two goddamn years, Avery.” His straightens, hands clenching into fists at his sides. "And you just—what? Decided we didn't need to know?"

Her stomach twists with guilt, "There’s more to the story than that.”

"You think that justifies what you did?" Adam scoffs, shaking his head. "You don't get to stand here and act like you did this for us. Like you did it for some greater purpose. You did it for you."

Jay stiffens beside her, his jaw tightening with the urge to defend her. "Ruz—"

But Adam isn't done. He steps closer, his anger rolling off him in waves as he points an accusatory finger. "You made us suffer," he says sharply. "You made us fucking grieve you. And now you expect us to just—what? Fall in line?"

Avery swallows hard, her pulse pounding in her ears.

He lets out a bitter laugh. "I should've known," he mutters. "I should've known you'd do something reckless. Something selfish."

That stings, makes her flinch. "Adam—"

But he doesn’t let her finish. Just shakes his head, jaw locked and shoulders rigid. Then, without another word, he turns and storms out. The back door slams shut behind him.

Avery exhales shakily, her hands trembling slightly at her sides. The weight of Adam's words lingers, sharp and heavy, digging into her chest like a sharp blade.

Kim shifts uncomfortably, glancing toward the door and itching to go after him, then back at Avery, sympathy in her eyes. Kevin looks conflicted, and Hailey—Hailey is unreadable.

Jay watches Avery closely, his hand flexing at his side as he fights the urge to reach out, to comfort her. But he doesn't. Not yet.

"He'll come around,” Hank says evenly.

Avery nods stiffly, but she doesn't really believe it. Gaze shifting across the room, she forces herself to continue. "I found the girls and I tried—" She clears the emotion from her throat, "You all know that I barely got out alive, and I didn’t remember anything. After Lang told me about being undercover, I started investigating. Jay's been helping me. We’ve been trying to track Nikolai." She glances at Jay, then back at the team. "And we found out Dmitri is in Chicago."

Voight's expression finally shifts, his brows drawing together.

"Dmitri Volkov?" Kevin clarifies, brows rising into his hairline.

Avery nods, "Yeah. And if he's here, that means something big is happening."

Voight exhales through his nose, his gaze darkening. "Do the Feds know?"

"I don't trust them,” she admits.

Jay steps in, his voice firm, "There's a mole." His green eyes flicker with something sharp, something deadly. "Avery figured it out while she was under. We don't know who it is, but someone on the joint task force is on Volkov's payroll. That's how they stay ahead. That's how they keep dodging us."

Kevin exhales, his expression serious. "And you think if we bring this to the Feds, it goes nowhere?"

"Or worse,” she answers. “It gets us killed."

It’s silent for a beat before Hailey finally looks at her. "So what are you asking us to do?"

Avery meets her gaze, steady and strong despite everything. "I know this isn't technically our case anymore. And if we pursue this, we're risking everything—our careers, our lives. So I’m not asking for anything." She looks at all of them, taking in their faces, the weight of what she's putting on them. "But I'm going after them," she says, determined. "I don't care what it costs me. I'm not stopping until Volkov is in a cell or in the ground."

For a second, no one speaks. Until Kevin straightens, "You don't gotta ask, Clarke. I’m in."

Kim takes a step closer, “Me too.”

Both Jay and Avery glance towards Hailey. She tilts her head, her expression still unreadable, but there's something softer there now. "That’s why you have a team, right?” she says easily, mimicking the words she once told Avery.

She smiles slightly, exchanging a relieved glance with Jay. Avery turns to Hank, hope shining in her eyes. Even though he’s already been letting them investigate without running interference, she won’t let the team in on this unless he approves.

His expression doesn't change, but something shifts in his eyes.

"We’re with you," he says simply. “Until the wheels come off.”

Her throat tightens, emotion clouding her vision. She swallows hard, nodding once.

Jay steps in closer, his hand brushing against hers, his voice low. "Told you."

She turns her head, meeting his gaze for a moment before moving to the white board. Avery grabs the edge, spinning it around to the other side where she laid out everything they have so far.

For the first time in years, she's not fighting alone.

Avery moves first. She reaches for the waistband of her leggings, lifting her hips to slide them down. Slowly, teasingly. Wanting to see what he'll do. Jay watches, his eyes flickering to the newly exposed skin, his breaths coming faster. When she kicks them off along with her panties, her breathing already unsteady, she spreads her legs. His gaze follows her fingers, a dangerous growl of her name slipping out when she slides them through her folds, deliberately slow. Her eyes meet his, searching, "Tell me you don't want this."

She barely gets the words out before his hands move to his belt, unbuckling it with quick, practiced movements and shoving his jeans and boxers down just far enough, his cock springing free, thick and hard. Their eyes don't leave each other.

There's no more hesitation. No second-guessing.

His hands are on her thighs before she even fully climbs over the console, gripping hard enough to bruise as Jay helps her straddle his lap. The heat of him—hard and ready—presses against her, making her suck in a sharp breath. His hands slide up, fingers digging into her hips as she braces herself against his shoulders. Her skin burns under his touch, every nerve in her body hyperaware, every inch of her aching for this. For him.

His breathing is ragged, his forehead pressing against hers for just a second as they hover on the edge. His hands flex against her skin, like he's holding on for dear life. Their breaths mingle, the heat between them suffocating. Jay swallows hard, "Avery."

"Shut up," she whispers, reaching between them. She wraps her fingers around his shaft, spreading the precum leaking from the tip and stroking once, twice—just enough to make him groan, his head tilting back against the seat. The sound makes her pulse throb between her thighs.

He pulls her closer, gripping her hips tighter as she rubs the tip of his cock through her slick folds, teasing herself, teasing him. His fingers flex, his restraint unraveling. “Fuck, Ave, you’re already so wet,” he rasps, his fingers digging into her skin. His voice is almost accusatory, like he’s mad at her for it. Like it drives him insane that she wants him this bad. “Didn’t even need me to kiss you first.”

She shivers at his words, her walls clenching around nothing. She’s already too far gone, already too desperate for him. Her smirk is lazy, taunting. “You should know by now that I’ve been thinking about this all night, Halstead.”

Jay growls, and that’s it. He’s done waiting. His hands shift, sliding to the small of her back as he jerks her down onto him in one fluid motion, burying himself deep.

She gasps, nails biting into his shoulders as she takes all of him, the stretch burning in the best way possible. “Oh, fuck,” Avery pants, adjusting, her thighs trembling. He’s so deep, so thick, filling her completely.

He lets out a ragged breath, his head falling back for a second as he grips her hips hard. "Jesus Christ—"

She bites her lip, circling her hips slowly, making them both groan. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

One hand slides up, twisting in her long waves and tugging, a gasp slipping past her lips at the twinge of pain. She tightens her thighs around him and starts moving, lifting herself up before falling back down on his cock. His voice is rough when he speaks again, his words sending a shiver down her spine. “You missed riding me like this?”

Her breath catches, her fingers clenching in his shirt. “God, yes,” she moans.

He chuckles darkly, dragging his lips along her throat. “I can tell,” he murmurs into her skin. He watches her, watches the way her body moves, watches the way Avery bites her lip when she grinds against him just right. “You’re fucking perfect like this,” he groans, his fingers sliding down to grip her ass. His voice is rough, his hand guiding her movements. “So goddamn beautiful.”

Jay meets her thrust for thrust, his hands roaming her body, dragging her down harder, rougher, like he can’t get close enough. He grabs the back of her head, yanking her forward until their mouths crash together, raw and desperate. His tongue pushes past her lips, stealing the breath right from her lungs. He doesn’t kiss her like he’s just giving in to temptation—he kisses her like he’s punishing her for making him want her this much. For making him lose control.

His hips give a particularly hard thrust and she pulls away with a ragged cry. One of her hands shoots out, slapping against the rapidly fogging window with a loud smack as her nails dig into his shoulder.

"Fuck," Jay groans, his head dropping to her shoulder as he fights for control. He sets a ruthless pace, thrusting into her from below while dragging her down, making the car rock with every movement. The wet, filthy sounds of their bodies meeting fill the small space, mixing with their ragged breaths, their desperate moans.

"Oh God," she whines, barely able to form words as she rides him, chasing the pleasure curling hot and tight in her stomach. Avery chokes on a sob, her head dropping back, and Jay takes full advantage—his mouth latches onto the column of her throat, his teeth scraping against her pulse before he sucks hard. Marking her. Claiming her.

"You're mine," he growls against her skin, his voice dark, possessive.

And that does something to her. It lights a fire in her veins, sends a new rush of heat straight to her core. Because even though she knows that this is what he does, the things he says when clouded by lust, Avery wants to be his.

Even after everything. Even with all the pain, all the heartbreak, all the unresolved anger and betrayal still lingering between them—she wants this. Wants him.

Jay feels it too. She can tell by the way he moves, by the way his hands tremble on her skin, by the way he buries his face against her shoulder like he’s afraid of what he’ll say if he looks at her right now. Like he doesn’t want to admit that this is more than just sex. That it always has been.

She swallows hard, emotion catching in her throat as her body starts to tighten, the pleasure building impossibly high. She’s close, so close, and he knows it.

"Come for me, Ave," he demands, his voice rough. “Come on my cock.”

She barely manages to pry her eyes open, her vision blurry, but when Avery meets his gaze, her breath catches in her throat. Because Jay is looking at her like she’s everything. Like he’s still in love with her.

And that’s what undoes her.

Her orgasm crashes through her like a tidal wave, her body locking up, her nails sinking into his shoulder, fingers curling against the glass as she shatters. She sobs his name, the pleasure so intense it borders on pain, and Jay doesn’t stop—he keeps thrusting, keeps pushing her through it, groaning as her walls tighten around him like a vice.

"Fuck, fuck," he grits out, his rhythm faltering, his body shuddering beneath her.

And then, he’s gone. His hands clamp down on her ass as he thrusts up hard, burying himself deep, his whole body tensing as he spills inside her with a broken moan.

The only sound left in the car is their ragged breathing, their bodies still pressed together, slick with sweat and trembling from the aftershocks.

Avery doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just stares at him as their heartbeats slowly start to settle. Because now that the haze of pleasure is fading, the weight of reality is sinking in.

This didn’t fix anything. They’re still fucked up. Still broken.

And yet—as she lets her forehead fall against his, she still doesn’t want to let him go.

Not yet.

Not ever.

The door barely clicks shut before Jay is on her, spinning her around.

His hands are rough, desperate, as they cup her face, dragging her into a bruising kiss. His body presses against hers, forcing her back until she collides with the door. His tongue sweeps into her mouth, claiming, tasting, like he’s trying to burn the feel of her into himself. Avery moans, nails digging into his shoulders as she pulls him even closer, needing to feel every inch of him against her.

They stumble through the apartment, their bodies colliding in a mess of teeth and tongue, all heat and unspoken words. Jay’s hands roam her body, palming her tits, digging into her hips hard. It stings against the already-forming bruises from earlier, but she doesn’t care. She wants it—wants to feel him there tomorrow, wants the evidence of his touch marking her as his.

His lips tear away from hers long enough to scrape down her throat, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin, and she arches into him, gasping.

“Mine,” he growls against her skin. “Always fucking mine.”

Her whole body clenches at the words, at the possessiveness in his voice, at the way his hands grip her like he’d burn the whole damn world down just to keep her. Avery barely registers how they make it to the bathroom, her clothes hitting the floor in a blur. He strips her with rough, impatient hands, his breath coming faster, his muscles coiled like a man barely holding himself back.

But then she’s sinking to her knees in front of him, looking up at him with dark, hungry eyes. His breath hitches, his jaw tightening, his hands flexing at his sides like he’s fighting the urge to touch her.

“Fuck, baby.” His voice is wrecked, like she’s completely undone him just by kneeling there.

She smirks, trailing her hands up his thighs before palming him through his boxers, feeling the heavy heat of him. His abs flex under her touch, his breath shuddering out as she drags his waistband down, letting his cock spring free.

Wrapping her fingers around him, she strokes him slow and deliberate, watching the way his head tips back, his hands clenching into fists like he’s barely holding it together. “Always so needy for me,” she mumbles, licking a stripe up his length before taking the head into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the tip.

Jay groans, his hands snapping to the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair. “Jesus, fuck—” His voice is pure gravel, rough and raw as she sinks lower, taking him deeper, her tongue teasing along the thick vein on the underside of his cock. He stares down at her, his green eyes dark and blown wide with need. “You love this, don’t you?” His fingers tighten in her hair, pulling slightly as he thrusts forward, barely restraining himself, “You love getting on your knees for me.”

She hums around him, her lips stretching into a wicked grin as she takes him even deeper, swallowing around him, making his hips jerk involuntarily.

“Ave,” he groans, his jaw clenching as his head falls back for a brief second before he looks down at her again. “No one’s ever done it like you. No one’s ever fucking compared.”

She moans at his words, the vibration making him curse under his breath. Avery pulls off with a wet pop, stroking him with one hand slowly as her fingers dig into his ass. She glances up at him, her lips swollen and used, “No one else has ever sucked you off this good, huh?”

Jay licks his lips, his fingers still in her hair, his other hand gripping the edge of the counter behind him. “Not a single fucking one.”

She grins before flicking her tongue over the tip, her strokes tightening just slightly. “Let me earn it.”

He groans as she takes him back into her mouth, her pace relentless now. His grip in her hair tightens, guiding her, fucking her mouth just enough to make her throat tighten around him, to make his breaths turn ragged. “Goddamn it, Ave,” Jay growls, his muscles flexing. “I’m not gonna last—”

Avery rubs her thighs together and mumbles around his cock, “Then don’t.”

That’s all it takes.

He curses, his hands fisting in her hair as he comes down her throat, his body tensing and his head tipping back. Avery swallows every drop, her tongue flicking over him one last time before pulling back, wiping some of his cum from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, her gaze never leaving his.

Exhaling, Jay looks down at her with something dark and wild in his eyes. And then suddenly, he’s grabbing her by the arms, yanking her up and crashing his mouth onto hers in a searing, possessive kiss, tasting himself on her lips. He moves her back towards the shower, reaching behind her and twisting the shower handle until steaming water sprays against the glass.

She nibbles on his bottom lip, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Are you going to carry me?” she teases, reminding him of his earlier threat.

“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he murmurs against her mouth, his hands already sliding down, gripping her thighs and lifting her effortlessly.

Avery grins against his lips, wrapping her legs around his waist. “Then die happy.”

He slams her against the shower wall, his mouth trailing down her throat as he grips himself, sliding the thick head of his hardening cock through her wetness. He groans at the reminder of what happened in his truck, knowing that what’s between her thighs is mixing with his cum. “Tell me who you belong to,” he growls against her skin, teasing her entrance, holding himself just out of reach.

She whimpers, her nails dragging down the taut muscles of his back, “You.”

Jay bites down on her shoulder, groaning. He soothes the sting with his tongue, then does it again lower, just above the swell of her breast. She gasps, head tilting back against the tile with a dull thud, hands fisting in his hair. "Jesus, Ave," he breathes, watching her squirm as he bumps the head against her clit. "You gonna let me make you come before I even fuck you?"

“I need your cock, Jay,” she whines, locking her ankles and pulling him closer.

And that’s all he needs to hear before he thrusts into her in one brutal stroke.

She cries out, her back arching off the tile, her body stretching to take him. His hands grip her ass, lifting her higher, angling her just right as he starts to move—hard, deep, punishing.

“Fuck, gripping me so tight,” he groans, his forehead pressing against hers, his breath ragged. “Always so fucking perfect for me, baby.”

Avery lets out a strangled moan, rolling her hips, matching his rhythm, “Jay—”

He smirks, snapping his hips faster, fucking her rougher. “You like it like this?”

She whimpers, nodding frantically.

His hands are everywhere—gripping, kneading, holding her exactly where he wants her. “Say it,” he rasps, his breath hot against her ear.

"I love it," she breathes, voice breaking into a desperate cry. "I love the way you fuck me."

A growl rumbles deep in his chest, and then he’s fucking into her harder, faster, each thrust driving deeper, his cock stretching her perfectly. “That’s my girl,” he grits out, burying his face in her neck.

His words make her dizzy, the heat inside her building, her body trembling from the intensity of it. And then he reaches between them, pressing his thumb against her swollen clit, and Avery shatters with a scream of his name.

Her orgasm crashes through her, her body locking up, her walls clenching around him so tight he chokes out a groan, his hips stuttering. “Fuck, Ave,” he grunts, slamming into her one last time before he follows. His body shakes as his hips still, his cock pulsing inside her, filling her completely.

They stay like that for a long moment, tangled together under the water, their bodies still trembling as the sound of their heavy breathing mixes with the steady stream from the showerhead.

Jay presses a lingering kiss to her shoulder, then another to her jaw, then finally to her lips—soft, slow, reverent. His hands loosen on her thighs, but he doesn’t let her go, doesn’t step away.

And she doesn’t want him to. Avery rests her forehead against his, her fingers gently tracing the nape of his neck. “I meant what I said,” she whispers against his lips.

He nods, his hand sliding up to cradle her face, his thumb brushing gently along her cheekbones. “I know,” Jay says, kissing her again—deep and slow, like he’s memorizing her. “Me too.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, neither of them is running.

prev . . . next

The air inside the truck is thick with unspoken words, heavier than the late-night Chicago fog settling over the windshield. The stakeout feels longer than usual—maybe because Jay has barely said a word to her in the past twenty minutes. He keeps his eyes locked on the entrance of the warehouse across the street, sipping his coffee, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel in a steady, agitated rhythm.

Avery shifts in the passenger seat, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. She doesn't need to be a detective to know something is off. Especially with him. She can see it in the way his shoulders are drawn tight, in the way his jaw flexes every time she so much as breathes too loud. And she knows—knows—it's not just about the case.

He's been like this—short with her, avoiding anything that isn't strictly about work—since she walked into the bullpen earlier tonight, since they settled into this truck. Since Saturday morning. And now, sitting here, in the dark, inches apart, the weight of everything between them is unbearable.

She can feel his frustration radiating off him in waves, the tension coiling tight between them like a wire about to snap. Bringing her feet down from the dash, Avery exhales and rests an elbow on the window. "Alright, just say it."

Jay doesn't even look at her. "Say what?"

She lets out a dry chuckle, tilting her head. "Oh, come on. You've been sulking all night. Either spit it out, or stop pouting."

His fingers curl into a fist on his knee, his shoulders stiffening. He takes a slow, measured breath, like he's trying to hold something in. Until he stops trying. "Did you tell Hailey?"

Avery blinks, caught off guard by the sharpness of his voice. "What?"

When he finally turns to her, his expression is unreadable, but his eyes are hard. "Did you tell Hailey that we slept together?"

She straightens, her own defenses immediately flaring, "Why the hell would I do that?"

"I don't know," Jay grits out. "But she fucking confronted me."

She gapes at him, completely stunned. Avery shakes her head, her brows knitting together. Then she closes her eyes and mutters, "Shit."

He scoffs, clearly taking that as confirmation, "Unbelievable."

Leaning toward him, she narrows her eyes, "You think I'd just run to Hailey and tell her we fucked like some high school drama?" The way he refuses to meet her gaze annoys her to no end, but she is so tired of fighting. "She must've heard me talking to Kim when we were shopping. I'm sorry."

Jay sends her an unimpressed look, "You told Kim. While you were shopping. With Hailey."

"Kim is my friend. Forgive me for wanting to talk about it after you refused to."

He exhales sharply through his nose, turning back toward the windshield. Shaking her head, she sinks deeper into her seat and glares out the window, watching the snowflakes fall slowly to collect on the ground.

An echoing silence follows.

Jay's fingers work over his jaw, his eyes closed as he swallows hard. But he doesn't apologize. Doesn't acknowledge the way his anger might be misplaced.

And that's what finally makes her snap.

"You're acting like I betrayed you," Avery says, her voice laced with frustration and something more vulnerable. "But you're the one who's been ignoring me for days. So, what is this really about, Jay? Because I don't think it's Hailey."

His head snaps toward her, his green eyes blazing, "You really want to do this right now?"

She arches an eyebrow, "We're stuck in a car together so it's not like you can run away this time." He shakes his head, letting out a humorless laugh, but doesn't say anything. Still. "You said that you didn't regret it," she reminds him. "So I don't know if you lied, or if you changed your mind, or if you just feel guilty about it. But I don't."

Jay watches her for a long moment, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter, but just as strained. "I don't either."

She thinks he means it. But he doesn't continue. Doesn't explain, doesn't tell her how he feels. And she doesn't have the energy to force him to. They sit in silence, both staring out at the darkened street, the tension still thick enough to suffocate them both.

As the minutes stretch, neither of them can shake the feeling that no matter how much they try to fight it, they are both inevitably falling into something they might not be able to stop. Avery watches him carefully, noticing the way his fingers tighten around the steering wheel. She told him once that she doesn't know how to fix things, and every second that goes by just reminds her that she may not be able to.

"I told Will," Jay breaks the silence, his voice rough but lacking the same bitterness.

She bites back a snort at the idea of Will giving advice, but she gets what he’s doing. He feels bad for snapping and is trying to make her feel better. So, she gives in, teasing, “And what exactly did you tell William?”

Jay finally looks at her, his green eyes dark, intense. "That after I saw you again… nothing else mattered."

Breath catching, Avery stares at him, stunned by his unexpected confession. Something shifts in the air between them. She swallows hard, her throat suddenly dry. Their eyes stay locked, and it's like neither of them are breathing. They both know what they want.

Avery moves first. She reaches for the waistband of her leggings, lifting her hips to slide them down. Slowly, teasingly. Wanting to see what he'll do. Jay watches, his eyes flickering to the newly exposed skin, his breaths coming faster. When she kicks them off along with her panties, her breathing already unsteady, she spreads her legs. His gaze follows her fingers, a dangerous growl of her name slipping out when she touches herself. Her eyes meet his, searching, "Tell me you don't want this."

She barely gets the words out before his hands move to his belt, unbuckling it with quick, practiced movements and shoving his jeans and boxers down just far enough. Their eyes don't leave each other.

There's no more hesitation. No second-guessing.

His hands are on her thighs before she even fully climbs over the console, gripping hard enough to bruise as Jay helps her straddle his lap. The heat of him presses against her, making her suck in a sharp breath. His hands slide up, fingers digging into her hips as she braces herself against his shoulders. Her skin burns under his touch, every nerve in her body hyperaware, every inch of her aching for this. For him.

His breathing is ragged, his forehead pressing against hers for just a second as they hover on the edge. His hands flex against her skin, like he's holding on for dear life. Their breaths mingle, the heat between them suffocating. Jay swallows hard, "Avery."

"Shut up," she whispers, reaching between them.

Their breathing is still uneven, bodies pressed together, heat radiating between them as they both slowly come down from the high of what just happened. Jay's fingers still grip her waist, his chest rising and falling beneath her as his heartbeat slows from its frantic pace. Avery is curled against him, her forehead resting on his, eyes closed, savoring the moment before reality forces its way back in.

Jay inhales through his nose, filling his lungs with the scent of her—sweat, sex, and something distinctly Avery. His hands move absently up and down her back, grounding them both. The intimacy of the moment lingers, warm and fragile.

Exhaling a shaky breath, her lips brush against his jaw as she mumbles, "There's a lot more space in here than your old truck."

He lets out a breathless chuckle, his fingers tracing slow circles against her skin beneath her shirt. “Yeah,” he grumbles, low and rough. “You didn’t hit your head this time.”

Avery laughs softly, shifting slightly in his lap, but the moment she moves, his hands tighten on her waist, keeping her close.

Then—something changes.

Jay stiffens beneath her, his entire body going rigid. His breath hitches slightly, his hands stilling against her skin. The shift is instant and unmistakable.

Her eyes flutter open, confusion flickering across her face as she leans back to look at him. “Jay?” she whispers.

But he isn’t looking at her. His gaze is locked past the windshield, over her shoulder, his expression hardening in an instant. His green eyes darken, his jaw clenches, and his grip on her hips tightens—just slightly, but enough for her to feel it.

Her stomach drops. She knows that look. Avery turns her head just enough to see past the fogged-up glass, and there—walking casually down the sidewalk like he doesn’t have a single damn care in the world—is Ivan Markov.

One of Nik's top men. One of the people they've been trying to track for weeks. One of the few people who might be able to lead them back to Nikolai.

Her heart kicks into overdrive, and suddenly, the aftershocks of their release are gone, replaced by pure adrenaline. “Shit,” she breathes, scrambling off his lap. The loss of his body heat is jarring, but there’s no time to think about that now. Avery frantically yanks on her clothes, fingers fumbling with her leggings. Her body is still aching, still oversensitive, but she ignores it, ignores the uncomfortable wetness, because this is bigger than whatever the hell just happened between them. Again.

Jay is already moving too, tucking himself back into his pants, his hands swift and steady despite the tension coiling through his body.

“We have to follow him,” she says, shoving her arms into her coat, still breathless.

His voice is clipped, focused, as he starts the truck, “Already on it.”

Avery barely has time to fasten her seatbelt before Jay pulls out, merging onto the quiet Chicago streets. The truck hums beneath them, the cab still thick with the remnants of sex and sweat, but the moment has passed.

They follow Ivan from a distance, careful not to get too close. "He's alone," Jay observes, his voice low, controlled.

She watches as he stops in front of an old, run-down building with a garage. Not a club. Not a bar. Not a social spot. “This is a meeting place,” Avery mutters, instincts firing on all cylinders.

He grips the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles white, "Or a safe house." They watch as the garage door creaks open, Ivan driving inside before it clanks shut. Jay pulls into a shadowed spot a block away and kills the engine. The silence inside the truck is thick, electric.

Avery turns to him, voice barely above a whisper, “We have to go in.”

Jay meets her gaze, and she knows exactly what he’s thinking. The plan was surveillance. But he also knows her—knows that nothing will stop her once she’s set her mind to something. He exhales through his nose and relents, “We do this carefully.”

They both grab their weapons, exiting the truck with practiced ease. The cold air bites at their still-heated skin, but adrenaline wipes away everything else. They reach the side entrance, pressing against the wall beside the door. Jay shoots her a look, a silent question passing between them.

She nods, and he quietly works on the lock. He carefully eases the door open just a crack—just enough to get a look inside. And what he sees makes his blood turn to ice.

Avery watches as his entire body goes taut. His jaw tightens. His grip on his gun shifts, steady but urgent. Something is wrong. "What? Is it Nik?" she whispers.

Jay slowly turns toward her, his voice tight, urgent. "It's not just Nikolai."

Her stomach twists, and his next words nearly make her heart stop.

"It's Dmitri Volkov."

She moves to the other side so she can get a better look, to get confirmation. And there he is.

Dmitri.

The real power behind the Volkov syndicate. The man who never shows his face in the U.S. The shadow who controls everything.

And he's here, in Chicago.

Her grip on her gun tightens, her breathing sharp and shallow. Every nerve in her body is screaming, her instincts clawing at her to move, to act, to take the shot.

Nikolai is right there.

And his father—the mastermind behind everything, the reason for so much suffering—is standing a few feet away from him.

This is the moment she's been waiting for. The moment she's been fighting for.

Avery shifts, barely perceptible—but Jay knows. His hand shoots out, catching her wrist in an iron grip. She whips around, eyes blazing. "What the hell are you doing?" she hisses.

He doesn’t flinch, his voice low as he drags her around the corner, "We can't go in blind."

Her nostrils flare as she jerks her wrist free, her heart pounding against her ribs. "We might not get another chance."

"We'll get another chance," Jay counters, tone firm. "But not like this."

Chest rising and falling rapidly, her fingers twitch at her side. Avery glances back toward the door, her entire body aching to move—to do something.

"We’re not on any authorized case. We're outnumbered," Jay presses. "We should call the team."

Her head snaps toward him, "No."

Jay looks at her like she’s lost her mind. “Ave, we can’t do this alone.”

"I said no," she bites out. "No one else can know about this."

"You can't be serious," he says incredulously.

Straightening her shoulders, she glares at him, "I don't want anyone else involved. Not yet.”

His patience frays as he fights to keep his voice low, quiet, "You don't get to make that call."

"Yes, I do," Avery fires back. "This isn't just about the case, Jay. It's about me. My past. What happened to me."

His jaw tightens, frustration creeping in, “We need more eyes on this. People we can trust.”

Avery lets out a sharp laugh, but there's no humor in it. "It's not about trust. I don’t need everyone knowing what I’ve been through until I’m ready to tell them. And we can’t risk it getting back to the Feds.”

Jay scrubs a hand over his jaw. “Voight knows,” he points out.

“Yeah,” she scoffs, “because I decided to tell him.”

He hesitates, shifting on his feet, his throat bobbing like he’s bracing for impact. “Hailey knows too.”

The words hang between them, heavy and ice-cold.

Avery goes completely still. The air around them seems to tighten, suffocating, the blood roaring in her ears. Slowly, too slowly, she turns to face him. Her expression is unreadable—too controlled, too blank—but Jay knows her well enough to see the storm brewing beneath the surface. Her voice is eerily calm, “What?”

His jaw clenches painfully. “She figured out we were investigating Volkov.”

She takes a step back, just enough to put distance between them. Her pulse is hammering now, her fingers twitching at her sides. “You told her?” she repeats, her voice sharper this time, edged with something dangerous.

“No,” Jay corrects quickly, shaking his head. “She confronted me. I wasn’t going to lie to her.”

Avery lets out a humorless laugh, something raw and bitter breaking through her tightly controlled exterior. “You’ve been lying to her this entire time.”

"That's different."

"Oh, is it?" she snaps, taking another step back.

"Yes," Jay says firmly, his patience slipping even as his heart breaks watching her so desperately trying to get away from him. "Because I couldn’t lie to her face when she specifically asked why I was sneaking around with my ex-girlfriend."

The words land like a slap. Avery flinches, her breath hitching, but her expression doesn’t waver. Her face remains carefully blank, but her knuckles go white where her fists clench at her sides.

Jay can see the war waging inside her, can practically hear the snap of whatever fragile thread was holding her together. He exhales roughly, dragging a hand down his face, trying to shake off the frustration that’s been building in his chest. “Look, I get why you’re mad. But Hailey’s not the enemy here.”

Her nostrils flare as she glares at him, every muscle in her body wound so tight she feels like she might snap. “She had no right to know.”

"And I had no right to be kept in the dark for two years, but here we are," he shoots back.

Avery swallows hard, but the lump in her throat refuses to go down. Her hands are still curled into fists, shaking with the effort it takes to hold herself together. Her voice, when she finally speaks, is quieter. More lethal. “You don’t get it.”

Jay watches her, eyes sharp, reading her the way he always has. He knows she’s spiraling, knows she’s grasping at anything to hold onto her anger because the alternative—the pain, the hurt—would break her. "I think,” he starts carefully, “we've both made choices that the other doesn't agree with."

Silence stretches between them, heavy and suffocating.

Avery forces herself to take a breath, to push down the sharp betrayal clawing at her chest. She knows she can't unravel now—not when this is what matters. Not when the man who nearly broke her is right there, just within reach. She turns back to the warehouse, her mind shifting back to the moment at hand.

He sighs, following her gaze, “We need a plan.” When he sees the way she grits her teeth, biting back the urge to argue, he narrows his eyes. “Don’t make me carry you.”

She snaps her gaze towards him, mouth falling open in disbelief at the threat. But the way he arches a brow, she knows he’ll actually do it. And as much as she doesn’t want to admit it, he’s right. Avery clenches her jaw, her hands tightening at her sides. "Fine," she forces out.

Jay nods, his tension easing just slightly, "Okay." They stand in silence for a moment longer, both watching the warehouse, both knowing that this is just the beginning.

The tension in the truck is suffocating. Avery’s arms are crossed tightly over her chest, her jaw set, eyes locked on the windshield as Jay drives. His knuckles are white around the steering wheel, the leather creaking under his grip. Neither of them has spoken since they pulled away from the building where Dmitri Volkov had made his grand, unexpected appearance.

Her silence is a storm brewing. Jay can feel it—sharp and electric, like lightning about to strike. It’s louder than any argument they could have had, every unspoken word hanging heavy between them.

His voice breaks the quiet, softer than before, “I know you’re pissed. And I know this isn’t how you wanted tonight to go.”

Avery finally turns to look at him, her throat tight. “No, Jay. It’s really not.”

He nods, the muscle in his jaw flexing as he grips the wheel even tighter. “But I meant what I said before. I’m still with you in this.”

Her eyes search his profile, desperately looking for something solid to hold onto. But she knows Jay Halstead. She knows how good he can be at compartmentalizing, at putting up walls. She knows how he can make a promise and then bury it under duty, under guilt, under everything else he thinks he needs to be. Truthfully, though, she knows she’s guilty of doing the same thing tenfold.

She shakes her head, her voice small but unwavering. “You keep saying that, but I don’t know if I believe you.”

Her words hit like a physical blow. His expression flickers, a flash of hurt beneath the stoic mask, but he doesn’t argue. Jay just nods, like he expected it. Like he knows he deserves it.

The truck pulls to a stop in front of her building, and Avery is already out of the car before the engine fully shuts off. The cold air slams into her, but it does nothing to cool the fire raging inside her. She doesn’t look back as she slams the door, her feet carrying her up the steps, each one heavier than the last.

Jay sits frozen in the truck, his hands still gripping the wheel. His breath fogs the windshield, and for the first time in a long time, he feels completely, utterly lost.

“Fuck,” he mutters, slamming his palm against the steering wheel. He can’t let it end like this. Not again.

He shoves the door open and jumps out, jogging after her. “Avery—wait!”

She’s at the door by the time he reaches her, and she spins to face him, her keys clutched tightly in her fist, digging into the skin. Her eyes are a storm, fierce and wounded. “No. You don’t get to do this.”

Jay stops a few feet away, his breath coming out in sharp clouds. “Do what?”

She lets out a bitter laugh, the sound scraping against the cold night air. “You don’t get to fuck me in your truck and then act like I’m some reckless child who doesn’t know what she’s doing.”

His jaw tightens, the tendons in his neck standing out. “That is not what this is.”

“What is it then, Jay?” She steps closer, her voice rising. “Because I don’t know what the hell we’re doing anymore. I don’t know where I stand with you. I feel like I’ve made it clear what I want. But one second you’re all in, saying that you can’t stop thinking about me, and the next, you’re pulling away.”

“I’m trying to protect you!” His voice echoes through the quiet streets, the rawness of it cutting through the space between them.

Avery scoffs, shoving at his chest, unable to handle his closeness any longer.

He barely moves under the force of her push, but his hands shoot out, catching her wrists. His grip is firm but not painful, his fingers curling around her pulse points. Jay holds her still, his breathing ragged as he gazes down at her, forcing her to meet his eyes. “You want me to say it? Fine. I can’t stay away from you. I don’t want to stay away from you. But this isn’t just about us. Going at this alone is dangerous.”

Her chest rises and falls rapidly, her wrists still held captive in his hands as she tries to free them. “I don’t need you to save me,” she spits out, the words laced with a venom that barely conceals the hurt beneath.

His expression hardens, his grip tightening just slightly. “You know what Hailey said to me? She couldn’t understand why I was helping you. Why I was putting everything on the line for you.”

“Then why are you?!” she asks, her tone laced with confusion and a hint of desperation. She doesn’t understand either. She doesn’t understand why he keeps showing up, why he keeps supporting her after everything she’s done to him. When she doesn’t fucking deserve it.

“Because you’re my partner!” The words rip out of him, raw and unpolished. His grip on her wrists tightens, and his expression crumbles, every wall he’s built cracking open. “After everything you’ve done, or how much time has passed, or how many other partners come and go, it doesn’t fucking matter. You’re my partner, Avery. And I’m not just going to sit by and watch you get yourself killed.” His voice breaks, quieter this time, a broken confession slipping past his lips. “Not again.”

The weight of his words hangs between them, heavy and undeniable. Her breath shudders out of her, and for the first time in a long time, the anger melts away, leaving only the ache. The longing. The need.

Her voice is a whisper, fragile and fierce. “I’m right here, Jay. I’m not going anywhere.”

Something snaps in him. His grip loosens, his hands sliding down to lace their fingers together. He pulls her closer, their bodies aligning, heat seeping through layers of clothing. His forehead drops to hers, their noses brushing, their breaths mingling.

“Ave,” he breathes, her name a promise, a plea.

She doesn’t let him finish. Her lips crash against his, fierce and unapologetic, all teeth and desperation. Jay meets her halfway, his hands coming up to cradle her face, his thumbs brushing against the dampness of her cheeks—tears she didn’t realize she was shedding.

The kiss deepens, and everything else fades. The cold, the dark, the chaos of their lives—all of it dissolves under the heat between them. His tongue slides against hers, coaxing, claiming. Her hands grip his jacket, pulling him closer, grounding them both.

They kiss until the world is nothing but the soft sounds they make, the gentle pull and push, the quiet, unspoken promise that whatever comes next, they’ll face it together.

When they finally break apart, their foreheads remain pressed together, both of them breathing heavily, eyes closed. Jay’s thumb traces a slow, comforting line along her cheek, and Avery leans into the touch, her walls finally—mercifully—coming down.

They stand there, in the cold Chicago night, wrapped in each other, tangled in the truth neither of them can run from anymore.

And for the first time in a long time, neither of them wants to.

Avery wakes slowly, the warmth of the blankets cocooning her. The bed is unfamiliar, but the sheets smell like Jay. She burrows deeper into them, letting herself exist in the haze and cling to the illusion of safety. For the first time in weeks, she’s had a full night of sleep—no nightmares, no jolting awake in a cold sweat, no echoes of the past clawing at her. Just warmth. Just peace.

Then she shifts her legs, feels the familiar ache between her thighs—the unmistakable reminder of last night—and it all comes rushing back.

The way Jay kissed her like he needed to breathe her in, like he was afraid she would disappear again. The way his hands roamed her body, claiming her after so long. The way he whispered I’ve missed you like a confession, like a truth he hadn’t dared to say until then.

A slow, hopeful smile tugs at the corner of her lips. She rolls over, expecting to find him beside her, to see the familiar sleepy smirk he used to give her in the mornings when they woke tangled up together. Instead, she finds an empty pillow, the sheets slightly rumpled but otherwise untouched. Her heart stumbles, her stomach twisting in disappointment. Then she spots him—sitting on the edge of the bed, his bare back to her and shoulders hunched. The dim morning light filters in through the blinds, casting long shadows across his freckled skin.

She swallows, the warmth inside her flickering with unease as she pushes herself onto her elbows. "Hey," she starts gently, but the way his muscles tense at the sound makes something tighten in her chest.

Jay turns slightly at her voice, his green eyes meeting hers, but they don’t hold the same softness they did last night. They’re clouded, unreadable. He looks exhausted, like he barely slept.

Like he regrets it.

That thought sends a sharp pang through her, and she tries to push it away. “Why are you sitting over there?” she asks, her voice light, teasing—like if she says it the right way, maybe things won’t feel so off.

Jay sighs, rubbing both hands over his face. When he speaks, his voice is rough, tired, “I just needed a minute.”

Her smile fades, her stomach twisting tighter. They’ve been here before, so many times—waking up in each other’s arms, tangled in sheets, teasing kisses and lazy mornings. It used to feel effortless. Avery knows things have changed, but she didn’t think it wouldn’t feel so… different.

Wrong. Right. Everything in between.

Jay stands abruptly, finding his boxers on the floor and pulling them on. His movements are deliberate, careful. Guarded.

She hates the silence. Everything in her, every stubborn cell in her body, wants to pick a fight. Wants to yell at him to say something. The old her probably would have. Instead, she decides to tread carefully. Telling him what she remembered about her missing years was a step in the right direction, and she doesn’t want to ruin that. "Do you want to talk about last night?"

He exhales sharply, refusing to meet her eyes as he moves towards the dresser, "I really don’t.”

Avery narrows her eyes. Okay. Maybe they are going to fight. “That’s it?” When he doesn’t respond, just closes his eyes and tightens his grip on the fresh shirt in his hands, she continues. "Don’t say it was a mistake," she warns, her voice dangerously quiet. But there’s something underneath it, something close to desperation. "Because if you do, Jay, I swear to God—"

His eyes snap to hers, something flickering in their depths. Guilt. Conflict. Longing. "I’m not saying it was a mistake," he says finally, his voice low, careful.

Her heart skips. Hope flutters in her chest, fragile and uncertain. "Then what was it?"

Jay hesitates, then shakes his head, looking away. "I don’t know." He tugs the shirt over his head and walks out of the room.

She lays there, biting the inside of her cheek as she watches him leave, blinking back the tears stinging her eyes before she throws the sheets off and stands. She just wants to get out of here.

Moving into the bathroom, Avery shuts the door softly. Breathe in. She leans back against it, her head hitting the wood with a dull thud. Breathe out. She tries to calm her racing heart. Breathe in. Tries to keep from breaking down. Breathe out. After another minute of struggling to bite back the panic attack threatening to claw its way to the surface, she walks towards the toilet.

When she finishes up and goes to wash her hands, to clean up the inside of her thighs still sticky with him, her eyes catch on her reflection. She looks absolutely wrecked. Normally, that wouldn’t bother her. Normally, the sight of her messy hair, swollen lips, and the marks he left on her body would send a thrill through her. But now, it just makes the vice around her heart tighten painfully.

She cleans up quickly, then moves back to the bedroom, searching the floor for her clothes. “Fuck,” Avery mutters, realizing her clothes are still folded neatly by the front door. Running her fingers through her tangled waves, she braces herself and follows him with her head held high.

The soft padding of her bare feet against the hardwood makes Jay lift his head from where he stands in the kitchen making coffee. Their gazes meet and his jaw goes slack, unable to stop his eyes from tracing her naked form. Clearing his throat, he averts his eyes, trying to focus on his forgotten task.

She doesn’t feel like peeling on the jeans she was wearing when she came here so instead, she pulls on his discarded sweatpants before slipping on her bra and long-sleeve top. Avery takes the tie off her wrist, holding it between her teeth before gathering her hair into a ponytail. As she is walking towards the kitchen, her phone starts buzzing loudly on the counter. The counter he sat her on while he ate her out like a man starved.

Jay catches the name before she can react. His expression doesn’t change much—he doesn’t stiffen, doesn’t pull away.

She finishes securing her hair and picks up the phone. She hesitates, then swipes to decline the call. It’s only a few seconds before a text comes in.

Adam: Are you okay? You never came over last night. Call me.

Another follows.

Adam: You’re supposed to go shopping with Kim at 10. Don’t bail on her.

Avery locks her phone, shoving it in her pocket, "He’s just worried because I didn’t show up to his place last night."

He nods slowly, lifting the coffee pot, "I didn’t ask." His voice is low, almost too neutral.

She shakes her head, "Don’t do that."

Jay pauses mid-motion, fingers tightening around the handle before looking at her. "Do what?"

"Shut down on me.”

He lets out a quiet, hollow laugh, "I’m not shutting down.”

Avery huffs, “I thought we were past the whole Adam thing.”

“We are.” Truly, he doesn’t care anymore. Whatever she did with Adam was nothing compared to what he got to do to her last night. He sighs, leaning both hands on the counter and hanging his head, "I don’t know what you want from me."

Her heart clenches. "I want you to talk to me.” He scoffs at the irony, and it’s like a physical blow. She swallows the emotion clawing at her throat, thinking back to what brought her here in the first place. “Look, I know that I’ve been the closed-off one, but I thought… I mean, last night, I told you everything. That wasn’t easy for me.”

His eyes soften, “I know.”

“And then you kissed me,” she reminds him. “I just want you to be honest with me."

Then it’s gone, and his jaw tightens. "You want honesty? Fine. Here’s honesty—I don’t know what last night means. I don’t know what to do with it. And I sure as hell don’t know where we go from here."

She flinches, her throat tightening, but she squares her shoulders "Then let’s figure it out,” Avery tries to keep her voice steady as her eyes shine with hope, “Together."

I’m with you.

Jay stares at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "You should call him back.”

Her stomach drops. She’s not sure what she was expecting, but this hurts more than she thought it would. Without another word, she heads towards the door, putting on her boots as she blinks back tears. Her arms are slipping into her jacket when he walks towards her. She tries not to roll her eyes, refusing to look at him.

“Ave,” he says, softer now.

Avery pauses, bracing herself, and when she turns to face him, she inhales sharply at how close he is. Her pulse stutters, her body instinctively leaning toward him before she catches herself.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair before letting it fall to his side. “I’m sorry. I just… don’t know how to feel right now.” His fingers brush against hers, the warmth of his skin sending a shiver up her spine. Jay waits until she meets his gaze, something raw flickering behind his green eyes. “I don’t regret it.”

She swallows hard, “Okay.” It’s barely a whisper, her breathing shaky and uneven. She stares at him, her heart pounding as her eyes flicker to his lips, betraying her resolve.

Lifting a hand, Jay brushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers ghosting over her skin, lingering for just a second too long. His hand curls slightly, like he’s fighting the urge to pull her back in.

“I’ll see you later?” he asks. His voice is rough, uncertain, but there’s something else there, something pleading—like he needs her to say yes. Like he needs to know that he didn’t completely ruin things.

Avery nods and exhales slowly, trying to steady herself. “Yeah,” she says, even though she doesn’t want to leave. Even though she doesn’t know how she’s supposed to.

His arms move before he can stop himself, wrapping around her and pulling her into the warmth of his body. She doesn’t hesitate—she sinks into him, lets her hands splay against his back, holding onto him just as tightly. His lips brush her temple, a barely-there kiss that feels more like a goodbye than anything else.

And then Avery pulls away. Her fingers linger against his forearm, a silent hesitation, before she forces herself to step back.

Jay watches her go, his chest tightening, his hand flexing at his side as if it’s already missing the feel of her. He doesn’t call after her, doesn’t stop her, even when every instinct is telling him to. The door clicks shut behind her, and the sounds echoes in his head.

Avery jogs from her car toward the boutique, the cold wind biting through her coat and stinging her exposed skin. She’s already late. Her wet hair is pulled into a tight bun, still dripping slightly at the ends, sending a shiver down her spine as she tugs her jacket tighter around herself.

All morning, her thoughts have been on Jay. Jay and the feel of his body against hers. Jay and the way his lips felt, the way his voice sounded when he told her he didn’t regret it. Jay and the fact that, no matter how much she told herself she wouldn’t get her hopes up, she already had.

She pulls open the door, and warmth washes over her instantly. And then regret. The store is bright, inviting, and filled with racks of maternity clothes. Everything is so colorful, so cheerful—so completely opposite of how she’s feeling right now.

She spots Kim near the front, already sifting through a rack of oversized sweaters, her face lighting up when she sees her. “Hey! You made it.”

Avery forces a smile, slipping off her jacket as the heat from the store settles into her skin. “Yeah, of course. Wouldn’t miss watching you try on stretchy pants.”

Kim rolls her eyes but grins, placing a hand on her stomach. She’s not really showing yet—not to the untrained eye—but Avery can see it. And Kim can definitely feel it. “Yeah, well, I don’t know when we’re all going to have a day off like this, so I gotta stock up.”

Her brows knit together, “All?”

Before Kim can respond, she hears a familiar voice behind her. “Burgess, I found it!”

Avery freezes for a moment, her breath hitching. She doesn’t have to turn around to know who it is. But she does anyway, and sure enough, Hailey and Vanessa are walking toward them.

Vanessa holds up a bright pink sweater, grinning, “Tell me this isn’t adorable.”

Her stomach twists uncomfortably. She thought it was just going to be her and Kim. Now, standing across from Hailey, she feels the weight of last night settle heavy in her chest.

Hailey doesn’t say anything—just looks at her. It’s not an outright glare, not exactly. But there’s something in her gaze, something unreadable and sharp, like she’s studying her, waiting for her to crack under the pressure. Avery schools her expression, forcing a polite smile, “Hey.”

Vanessa nudges her shoulder, “About time you got here. Kim’s acting like she’s about to pop any second.”

Kim rolls her eyes, laughing, “I just want to be prepared, okay?”

But Avery barely hears her. Her fingers twitch slightly at her sides as she shifts closer to the rack in front of her, pretending to be absorbed in the soft fabrics. She can do this. She can act normal.

But Hailey is still watching her.

She doesn’t say anything—doesn’t have to. The tension is thick, suffocating. It makes Avery feel like the evidence of last night is written all over her, like it’s scrawled in ink across her skin. She momentarily panics that maybe the makeup covering the marks Jay left on her neck isn’t thick enough. She tries to remind herself that none of this is simple.

But she knows why Hailey and Jay broke up. She knows that she was the reason. And now, standing in front of her, Avery can’t ignore the fact that, less than twenty-four hours ago, she was in his bed. That she was the one who made him come undone. That she’s the reason Hailey’s entire relationship fell apart. She takes a breath, forcing herself to hold her ground. Reminding herself that she was honest with Hailey—she told her she still loves Jay. Whatever Jay does, whatever he feels, is on him.

Still, her stomach churns with unease.

“So,” Vanessa chirps, completely oblivious, “Are we just looking at baby stuff, or are we doing regular shopping, too? Because I saw the cutest boots by the front.”

Kim chuckles, “Feel free.”

Vanessa brightens and grabs Hailey’s arm, dragging her along, “Come on, let’s go check it out.”

As soon as they’re gone, Avery exhales slowly, pressing her fingers into her temples like that might somehow ease the tension coiling in her chest. She’d barely made it through the first half-hour of shopping—after dodging one too many questions, shifting awkwardly every time Hailey came near, and zoning out so many times that even Kim noticed.

And now, before she can escape, Kim grabs her wrist and pulls her into a dressing room, shutting the door behind them with a quiet but firm click. “What is going on with you?” Kim demands, crossing her arms as she fixes Avery with a pointed stare.

She scoffs, leaning against the wall, her own arms mirroring Kim’s in a defensive stance. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit.” When Avery rolls her eyes and glances away, Kim doesn’t let up. “Is this about last night?”

Her breath hitches slightly, heart stuttering in her chest. “What?” she chokes out, caught completely off guard.

Her gaze sharpens at the reaction, “Adam said you sounded off on the phone, and then you never showed up. We were worried.”

Avery exhales slowly, suddenly feeling way too warm in her sweater. She debates brushing it off, playing it down, but this is Kim—one of the few people she still trusts. And honestly? She needs to tell someone. Her jaw tightens before she finally forces the words out, low and hesitant, “I slept with Jay.”

Kim stares at her, lips parting slightly. “What?” Then, after a stunned beat, “When? Last night?”

Shifting uncomfortably, she nods, “Yeah.”

“Wow,” Kim blinks slowly. “Okay.”

Closing her eyes, Avery groans, “Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m not,” she says quickly, but her face tells a different story. “I’m just… processing.” Then, her expression turns serious, voice dropping slightly. “He just broke up with Hailey.”

She flinches at the reminder, at the reality of the situation she’s put herself in. “Yeah.”

Exhaling, Kim runs a hand through her hair, “But you guys are… you.”

Avery lets out a humorless laugh. “Yeah,” she echoes, struggling to find any other words.

Kim studies her for a second longer, as if putting together pieces of a puzzle she’s been watching for years. Then, with an almost amused shake of her head, she mutters to herself, “I owe Adam twenty bucks.”

Her head snaps up, incredulous, “What?”

She shrugs, “He bet me this would happen.”

Her mouth falls open in offense, “You guys bet on us?”

Kim arches a brow. “Obviously.” Then, with an infuriatingly casual air, she adds, “Kev owes him fifty.”

“Oh my god,” Avery drags a hand down her face.

Kim grins, completely unrepentant. But then she sobers slightly, tipping her head to the side. “So,” she drags out the word, “what does this mean?”

“I don’t know,” she says on an exhale, shoulder sagging under the weight of it all.

She pauses for a beat, “And Jay?”

Avery can’t stop herself from narrowing her eyes and throwing up air-quotes, “He’s ‘confused’.”

Kim arches an unimpressed brow, “Is that what he told you?”

“Pretty much.”

She mutters a quiet, “Men.” Then she watches Avery carefully, as if she’s waiting for her to say what’s really on her mind. And when she doesn’t, Kim takes the direct approach. “And you? What do you want?”

Avery hesitates. Because saying it out loud makes it real. But she already knows the answer. “I want him,” she admits, barely above a whisper.

Kim softens, “You okay?”

She lets out a quiet laugh, but there’s no humor in it as tears well in her eyes. “Not really.”

Sighing, Kim reaches out and squeezes her hand, grounding her. “Then let’s get you out of this damn dressing room.”

Avery huffs out a small laugh, shaking her head as she follows Kim back out. As they step into the brightly lit store, her chest still feels tight. Because for the first time since she came back, she’s being honest—with Kim, with herself. And the truth is terrifying.

The rhythmic thud of the basketball against the floor echoes through the empty court. His muscles burn, sweat dampening the back of his shirt, but he barely feels it. He just keeps moving, keeps pushing. The past week has been a slow, unraveling disaster, and tonight, his only goal is to shut his brain off—if only for a few hours.

Will dribbles a few steps back, eyeing his brother warily. He's known Jay his whole life—knows when something is eating away at him. And right now, Jay is playing like he's got a personal vendetta against the damn basketball. Too aggressive, too tense. "Are we playing ball or are you trying to take my head off?" Will teases, bouncing it once before passing it to Jay.

Jay catches it with a sharp smack, his jaw clenching as he pivots and shoots. The ball clangs off the rim, bouncing away. "Damn it."

Will watches as Jay stalks after it, rubbing a hand over his face. His brother's frustration is radiating off of him, all sharp edges and unspoken words.

"Alright," Will exhales, setting his hands on his hips. "What the hell is going on with you?"

Jay scoffs, walking toward the half-court line. "Nothing."

"Bullshit." Will catches the ball, holding onto it as he studies his brother. "Did something else happen with Hailey?" Jay stiffens, his whole body locking up for half a second. Will sees it. Of course, he sees it. "What did you do?" Will asks, arching an eyebrow.

Jay exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face before finally admitting, "I slept with Avery."

"You—" Will stares at him, "What?"

Clenching his jaw, he paces toward the bench. "I didn't plan it."

Will lets out a low whistle, following after him, "Man, Hailey just broke up with you a week ago. And you're already back with Avery?"

His head snaps up, annoyance flashing across his face. "It's not like that. We're not back together."

"Really?" Will sets the ball down, arching a brow. "I mean, it sounds exactly like that."

Jay exhales sharply and sits down, his head tilting back toward the ceiling. "I don't need a lecture, Will." His voice is tired, raw. "She showed up at my door, and I just... I couldn't turn her away."

He watches him, his expression unreadable, "And that translates to having sex with her?" When Jay glares at him, he backs off a little. "What about Hailey?"

His stomach twists with guilt. The worst part? He hadn't even thought about Hailey until the next morning—until Avery was standing in his kitchen, looking at him like she wanted to fix everything between them. Like she wanted him back. And that realization makes him feel like a complete asshole. Jay lets out a rough breath, shaking his head, "I don't know, man. I don't know what I feel about anything anymore." Guilt tights in his chest. "I didn't think about her that night," he admits, rubbing his hands over his face. "Not once. And that makes me feel like shit."

Will studies him for a moment before sighing and sitting down on the bench, his tone shifting to something a little less sharp. "Alright, let's just take a step back. You and Hailey—that was real, right?"

He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Yes," Jay admits. "I cared about her. I still do. She was my partner, my friend. She was there when I needed someone."

"But?"

Jay shakes his head, swallowing hard. "But the second I saw Avery again, none of that mattered." The confession sits heavy in his chest as he stares at the ground.

Will exhales, rubbing his jaw. "I mean, I was there at the hospital. You got a lot of history with her."

He huffs out a bitter laugh, "Yeah. That's an understatement."

Silence stretches between them, the cold air biting at their sweat-dampened skin. Will finally speaks, "I know you've been pissed at her, but you haven't even explained why."

He hesitates. He needs to talk this out—even though his brother is probably one of the last people who should be giving relationship advice—and he can't do that without telling him more. "She wasn't being held prisoner the entire time," Jay says carefully, gritting his teeth at the reminder. "She was undercover for the Feds. And she decided to fake her death, without telling any of us. Without telling me."

"Jesus," Will blinks, taking it all in. "So... was it just a one-time thing?"

His mind flashes back to last night—to the way Avery looked at him, the way her hands clung to him desperately, the words she tried to say while he was lost in the feeling of being inside her again. To the way it felt like between her legs was where he was meant to be. "I don't know," he admits, his voice rough.

Will studies him, his expression unreadable. "Does she?"

Jay exhales sharply. "While we were..." He clears his throat, "She tried to tell me how she feels, and I shut it down."

"Classy," he deadpans. Jay sighs, pointing his glare at his brother again. Will bites back an amused grin, "Sorry." He studies him, his smile fading slightly. "Jay, man... I know how much she means to you. I do. But you need to be really honest with yourself about what this is. Are you doing this because you still love her? Or are you doing it because she's back, and you don't know how to deal with that?" He flinches, but Will presses on, "Because, either way, it's not fair—to her or to you."

Jay lets out a heavy breath. "I don't know how to separate it," he admits, voice rough. "I'm still mad as hell at her, but when she's around, I—" He stops, shaking his head, like he can't even put it into words. "It's starting to feel like it used to. Like we never lost those two years. And when she's not around, she's all I can think about."

Will tilts his head, considering. "So, what does that tell you?"

He looks up, meeting his brother's gaze. It tells him that he never really let Avery go. That, no matter how much time passed, it was always going to be her. But saying it out loud feels too final. Too real. So instead, he just shakes his head. "That I'm in way over my head."

He huffs out a small laugh, clapping a hand on Jay's shoulder. "Yeah, no shit." Jay smiles slightly, the weight on his chest easing just a fraction. Will grabs the ball and steps back. "So, what now?"

Sighing, Jay rubs a hand across his forehead, "I have no fucking idea."

After another moment of silence, of the words hanging in the air, Will claps a hand on his shoulder, squeezing briefly before pushing up from the bench. "Come on. Let's go another round. Maybe if I let you win, you'll actually talk to me next time instead of using me as a damn punching bag."

Jay smirks despite himself, grateful for the shift in conversation. He follows Will back onto the court, grabbing the ball and driving forward. But even as they play, even as he moves just to move, his thoughts never leave Avery.

The air is cold, the late Chicago afternoon painting the sky in muted grays as Jay and Hailey walk side by side back to his truck. The conversation with her CI had been straightforward enough, but the tension between them remains thick, lingering like an unwanted presence neither of them can shake.

Jay exhales slowly, shoving his hands into his pockets, trying to find the right words to build any kind of bridge between them. It feels like everything he says lately only widens the gap. “You think that lead’s solid?” he asks, his tone measured.

Hailey barely glances at him, her eyes fixed on her phone. “It’s something,” she replies, her voice clipped. She pauses for half a second, then adds, “We’ll see if it actually goes anywhere.”

He nods, lips pressing together. He watches her out of the corner of his eye, searching for any sign that she’s willing to let go of some of the distance between them. But the tension clings to her posture, the set of her jaw, the way she keeps her arms crossed tightly over her chest as if holding herself together. He doesn’t even realize she stopped walking until her voice hits him.

“Did you sleep with her?”

The question hits him like a gut punch. He freezes in his tracks, his breath catching. He blinks, turning to fully face her. “What?”

“You heard me,” Hailey says, her voice steady, but there’s an edge to it—a quiet storm brewing beneath her carefully controlled exterior. “Did you sleep with Avery?”

How the hell does she know? Jay exhales, dragging a hand over his jaw. He could lie. He could dodge it. But the truth is right there, hanging between them, and he’s too tired to pretend anymore. “Yeah,” he admits, his voice low. His stomach tightens when he sees the flicker of emotion in her eyes—hurt, disappointment, anger. “I did.”

Hailey nods once, lips pressing into a thin line. She looks away for a second, jaw tightening, before turning back to him. “Right.”

“Hailey—” He hesitates, then sighs. “I’m sorry.”

She lets out a short, humorless laugh, shaking her head, “What exactly are you sorry for, Jay?” Her voice isn’t angry, just tired. “That it happened? Or that I asked?”

He looks down, staring at the pavement as he searches for the right words. He avoids the question but lifts his gaze to hers. “I didn’t plan for it to happen. I didn’t—” He exhales sharply, “It just did.”

She studies him, her expression unreadable, and for a moment, it feels like she’s about to say something more, to push for answers he’s not sure he can give her. But instead, she lets out a long breath and nods again, her posture shifting as she closes herself off.

“I just needed to hear it from you,” she says, quieter now. “I’ve thought about it a lot. And I get it, Jay. I do. She comes back from the dead, and everything gets flipped upside down.” She shakes her head, looking down for a second before meeting his gaze again. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

Jay swallows, his chest tight, and he wishes he had an easy answer. But the truth is, he doesn’t. “I don’t,” he says honestly. “But I know I never meant to hurt you.”

Her lips twitch like she might laugh again, but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “I think that’s part of the problem.”

He watches her, a knot forming in his stomach as he realizes just how much damage has been done—not just between him and Hailey, but within himself.

Hailey doesn’t wait for him to say anything else. Instead, she moves past him, “We should get back to work.” And with that, she climbs into the truck, shutting the door behind her. Jay exhales, lingering outside for just a second longer, the weight of everything pressing down on him. Then, with a deep breath, he opens his own door and slides in, shifting the truck into drive as they head toward their next lead with a sinking feeling that whatever’s left between them is broken beyond repair.