#femoc

HER HAND HOVERED OVER the notebook page, a single sentence already written down.

Nothing else came.

She stared at the paper for a while, pen still in her hand. It wasn't like she had nothing to write about. If anything, there was too much of it. But every time she tried to put something down, her mind went blank again.

Letting out a sigh, Amy closed the notebook and dropped the pen next to it. It wasn't happening.

The sound of her phone ringing forced her out of her thoughts. She picked it up. "Hughes."

Jay skipped the greeting. "We caught a body. It's bad." She could hear it in his voice. "I'll send you the address."

She knew him well enough to recognize the tone immediately. Either the scene was gruesome, or the victim was a child.

As soon as she had the address, Amy grabbed her jacket and rushed out. Once she arrived, she took in the scene. Police officers were pushing civilians back behind the tape, making sure no one got too close.

Intelligence had already taken control, talking to witnesses and trying to piece together what had happened.

And in the middle of it all was a small body lying in the street, a white sheet covering her.

Amy went up to Jay, Alvin and Antonio. They were standing by the patrol cars. "What do we got?"

"The victim's name is Mya Watkins," Antonio said, briefly glancing at his notepad. "10 years old."

"She was a state's witness set to testify in a theft case this week," Jay added, his arms crossed. "Shooter walked up, put two in her head, and ran off." His voice wavered slightly, clearly bothered by this case.

Amy's eyes flicked briefly toward Alvin and Antonio— both fathers, both visibly affected in a way they didn't say out loud.

She nodded slightly. "I'm guessing no one saw what happened."

Antonio shook his head. "This was a message to the neighborhood. Don't snitch."

She thought over the very little information they did have. "They killed her in the middle of the street." Amy looked over at the body. "I doubt much planning went into this."

"You'd be right," Jay said. "Homicide found two 9-mil shell casings next to the body, so they didn't bother cleaning up after themselves. They're on their way to ballistics for analysis now."

Alvin was watching Amy closely. She didn't have much of a reaction to any of it. It was almost impossible to figure out what she was thinking.

"No, Mya!" They heard a woman cry out. When they turned, they saw Kevin holding back a crying woman, who was trying to reach the body. The mother.

"She's all alone! Please!" The mother's cries landed heavily over the scene, pulling attention from everyone present.

"I'll see you at the district," Amy muttered, before turning and heading back toward her car.

She quickly put the story together, printed out the photos, and put everything on the whiteboard. It was all ready by the time the unit showed up.

"James Grant," Amy started as everyone gathered around. "Senior at Anderson High. Star forward on the basketball team."

"Kid's a lock for the pros," Jay added. Amy glanced over at him and nodded once.

"Robbery-Burglary picked him up for holding up a corner store a few months ago," she continued. "Mya witnessed the incident, agreed to testify against him, and now she's in the morgue."

Kevin glanced around briefly, slightly taken aback by how bluntly she said it. No one else reacted. After a second, he pushed the thought aside and focused back on the board.

"So she was the only thing that stood between Grant going pro..." Erin trailed off.

"And spending the next five years in Stateville," Antonio finished her sentence. She nodded.

"The coach confirmed that Grant was playing a tournament in Evanston at the time of the shooting," Amy stated. "He has an alibi."

Erin looked over at her. "Maybe that was the plan. Have eyes on Grant while Mya gets shot somewhere else."

"This kid's connected enough to order a hit on a witness?" Alvin questioned. He didn't seem so sure.

Amy pointed at one of the photos on the whiteboard. "His uncle is."

Kevin's eyes were drilled into the image. He stepped closer, getting more determined. "We got anything on him?"

"Plenty." Amy grabbed a folder from her desk and handed it to the Officer. "Devon Tucker, O.G. vice lord turned gun runner."

The Officer flipped through the pages. There was a lot there— crimes, associates, family history. Amy had included notes on all of it.

He read over the part about the uncle and nephew, being able to piece together what kind of relationship they had— the written notes that Amy put in helped a lot. "Looks like he's been looking out for his nephew since the boy learned how to dribble."

"He's locked up at MCC on a federal weapon charge." Kevin glanced up and met Amy's eyes. She had thought the uncle was involved immediately, and now so did he.

Hank glanced between them, before his eyes landed on the Officer. Kevin had a look on his face— it was determination and something else the Sergeant couldn't place. "Think he ordered the shot from inside?"

Kevin turned to the Sergeant. "I bet my star on it."

Once Amy gave him a nod, confirming she thought the same, Hank was satisfied. He turned to Alvin. "Let's go have a chat."

The two older men grabbed their jackets and headed out.

As Amy was about to turn and go to her desk, Kevin spoke, stopping her, "hold on, Detective."

She looked at him. "Yes?"

"How do you do it?" Kevin asked as he handed back the folder. He glanced at the whiteboard, before meeting her gaze again. "Not care about the victim."

She almost wanted to shrug at the question, thinking the answer was obvious. "The victim and her family don't care how we feel about it. They care that we solve it."

Not waiting for a response, Amy headed for her desk, leaving the Officer still trying to figure out what exactly he thought about her.

Hank and Alvin met a dead-end and the case seemed to stall, but they kept working despite that. Figuring they'd be at the district for a while, Amy went to the break room and made coffee. They were gonna need it.

She sat at the round table, one hand wrapped around the mug, the other resting lightly against her chin. Her fingers drifted, almost absentmindedly, to the scar at her throat. A habit more than a thought.

Jay came into the break room a moment later and went straight for the coffee machine. He didn't say anything at first, just filled a cup and leaned back against the counter for a second.

"He asked me about you," he said finally. "Atwater." He crossed over and took the seat opposite her. "About the case."

Amy nodded slightly. "I already had this conversation with him."

"And?"

"And nothing." She lowered her hand from her throat, resting it against the table instead. "He's not the first person to wonder why I supposedly don't care about victims." She gave a small shrug before taking another sip of coffee. "Let him."

A quiet chuckle escaped Jay at how unbothered she was. "You'd sound terrifying if I didn't know you." That got a laugh out of her.

"You should still be terrified," she replied, taking another sip of her coffee.

The grin on his face widened. "Oh, really?" She nodded, a faint smile still present.

Comfortable silence followed, as the two Detectives sipped their beverages and let their minds go back to the case.

Amy let out a quiet sigh, her gaze settling on the table for a moment. "I think people rely on us too much for us not to focus completely," she said finally. "My dad used to say emotions cloud judgment. That bad judgment gets people killed and killers freed."

Jay nodded slightly. "Yeah, I guess, that's true."

"The cases need our focus, especially cases like these." Amy leaned back, glancing at the folder on the table.

He leaned against the table, a grin tugging at his face as she flipped through the file. "Aw, you do care." She didn't respond. Just lifted a hand and flipped him off, which made him laugh.

////

HANK CALLED THE DETECTIVES into his office the following morning. Not only was Commander Fischer there, but they also noticed a few members were missing. The Sergeant informed them that Antonio, Adam and Kevin were undercover in prison.

"As far as anyone knows, they're detainees like any other, which means they'll be treated as such," he told them. "I mean, only the warden knows they're inside. Anyone else finds out, it'll shut us down."

"Who's watching over them?" Fischer questioned.

"One of my best undercovers. So, while Atwater's on the inside trying to get Tucker on a wire copping to ordering the hit, we're out here doing everything we can to I.D. the shooter and then link him back to Tucker."

Fischer paused before he nodded slightly. "Sounds like fun." He turned and walked out of the office.

"That's the new commander?" Jay asked. "Sounds like fun," he mimicked Fischer. "Weird dude."

Hank shrugged slightly. "I spoke to Mya's mother," Erin told him. "She's on her way in for her interview."

"Where we at with the shell casings from the scene?" Hank asked.

"Firing pin signature doesn't match anything in the database, and no usable fingerprints," Amy replied. "Shooter was careful."

"Then we go back to basics. Check every camera we're linked to— CPD pods, commercial, residential surveillance. And run every in-service call that came in last night. I want to be briefed."

"Got it, boss," the Detectives replied before heading out of the office, passing Alvin where he leaned against the doorframe.

As they entered the bullpen, Erin pulled Jay aside to talk to him, and Amy went to her desk.

She decided to check CPD pods and surveillance, like Hank had asked them to do. Hopefully something would turn up. Amy made some calls, while Erin talked to Mya's mother.

Hank entered the bullpen just as Amy got off the phone. "Get a hit off the pods?"

"Not yet," Amy said. "CPIC's gonna extend the review radius to another six blocks."

Jay walked in, holding a folder. "Patrol responded to a hit-and-run collision a half mile from our crime scene last night. Call came in minutes after Mya was killed."

Alvin was leaning against Jay's desk. "Driver in a hurry to get lost."

"Partial plate narrowed it down to a Nathan Hughes in Wicker Park."

Hank glanced between him and Amy. "Hit it." Jay put the folder on his desk, before following Amy toward the exit.

The two Detectives didn't get much from this visit. They talked to Nathan's daughter and found out it was her car— that it was towed two days prior. It was better than nothing.

They informed Hank, before starting the drive back to the district. "Lindsay got a job offer," Jay said. She turned to him. "Steve Kot made her the offer."

"She got a job offer from ASA Steve Kot?" There was a hint of surprise in her voice.

Jay nodded. "On a task force. She is considering it."

Amy looked away, slowly nodding, trying to wrap her head around it. She tried to compare their unit to this task force— what it could possibly entail. "That's a big decision to make."

"It is." He glanced at her briefly.

They soon arrived at the district and got back to work. Hank and Alvin had gotten a lot more from their visit to the car lot, which turned out to be useful.

"The tow clerk rented the car to Omar Martel," Amy announced, walking up to the whiteboard, Jay trailing behind her. She put the photo on the whiteboard, as Hank and Alvin exited the office. "Martel was detained with Tucker at MCC until a few months ago."

Hank stood by his office door with Alvin. "Bingo."

"He used to run a stick-up crew ripping off dealers and killing them for fun." Jay handed out documents to Hank and Alvin. "Right. Now all of his boys are either dead or in jail, so he's branched out to murder. Last known address is on west 23rd and Pilsen."

"And Grant's cell phone records show him pinging a tower near Martel's house two days before Mya was killed," Amy concluded. She pointed at the picture on the whiteboard. "This is our shooter."

Hank nodded. "Beautiful. All right, let's roll out."

The unit quickly headed down to the garage and geared up, before moving out.

They quickly arrived to the house and Amy was the first to reach the door, a rifle in her hands.

Hank stopped her before she could kick the door open. "Hold on." He knocked on the door lightly, which was drowned by the music coming from inside. "Chicago police," Hank muttered.

The Sergeant moved out of the way and Amy kicked the door open. One after one, they followed her inside the house, clearing each room.

"Clear!" Amy gripped the rifle tight in her hands, slowly making her way up the stairs. They made it up to the second floor.

She moved her weapon to the right. "Clear." There was nobody there.

Jay moved past her to get into the next room, when a woman appeared in front of him, out of nowhere. He quickly grabbed her and put his hand over her mouth before she could scream and alert their suspect.

"Nod your head yes or no," Jay told her. "Is he back there?" The woman nodded rapidly. After making sure she'd be quiet, they moved her out of harms way and kept moving.

The Detectives continued down the hall. Jay signaled for Amy to continue forward while he went into the room to the right.

Jay walked into the room where Omar was. He was standing in front of the mirror, and after a moment, he caught Jay's reflection. He grabbed the clothes on the desk and threw them at the Detective, thinking that somehow would get him out of this situation.

Omar grabbed a knife and started swinging it at Jay, who backed away. Jay grabbed a shirt nearby, and when Omar swung at him again, he wrapped it around his wrist and tried to get the knife away. They struggled for a while before Jay elbowed him in the face.

Jay pulled Omar from the wall. The moment he did, Amy stepped into the room and drove a punch into his stomach. Omar doubled over and hit the floor.

Hank and Erin walked in. "What the hell y'all want?" Omar asked, clearly upset.

Hank walked up to him. "Tough guy, huh?" He stepped on Omar's stomach, which caused him to let out a pained groan. "You think you're hard? killing a child? Listen to me. This can go down a lot of different ways. But only one of them ends well for you."

Alvin approached the door, holding a phone. "Hey, Voight."

Hank kept his eyes on Omar. "I'm busy."

"It's Antonio."

Hank looked at Omar for a moment before backing away. "You got nothing on me," Omar remarked.

"We'll see about that." Jay grabbed Omar, turned him on his stomach, and cuffed him. With him in custody and Tucker's confession, they were able to close the case that night.

After clearing the whiteboard, Amy sat at her desk. She grabbed a black notebook from the drawer and opened it to a new page. Picking up the photo of the child victim, Amy glued it to the white paper, writing her name and date of death underneath.

It was something she did, something she had done since she became a cop. A book to remember the victims— the reason they did their job. That and the book of people she had saved.

They were reminders.

Amy heard him before he spoke. "You still here?" Kevin slowly entered the bullpen, looking over at the Detective. His face was bruised.

"I'm leaving soon." His eyes landed on the notebook and was able to get a glimpse before she closed it. She could see he was surprised by it, but didn't mention it. "Mya's mom is downstairs."

IT WAS EARLY WHEN Amy met with Jay in the boxing gym— way too early. But she needed these lessons, because of her shoulder. Also, it was empty, which was perfect.

The radio played quietly in the background. A fan overhead pushed cold air down into the room. Amy sat cross-legged on the mat, working the bandages onto her shoulder.

The tank top with the thick sleeves didn't help. That, and the hour, had her irritated.

Jay stood nearby, finishing his water. He lowered the bottle as he noticed her expression. "Need help with that?"

She let out a huff. "Yeah," she muttered.

He chuckled under his breath, setting the bottle on the bench. Amy got to her feet just as he stepped in.

"When do you wear these?"

"When I'm awake." She pulled her sleeve up toward herself to give him room. "I don't wear them when I sleep."

He placed the first bandage. "What exactly do they do?"

"They support my shoulder, take some of the pressure off." Jay nodded and reached for the next.

The first sat lower, wrapped across her upper arm and the base of her shoulder. The second went higher— laid over the top of her shoulder and pulled across toward her neck, tightening the joint.

Amy stayed still, shifting the fabric out of his way. Jay paused with the last bandage. "Lift your arm." She did without hesitation.

He wrapped it carefully, starting high at the shoulder and upper arm, bringing it underneath before pulling it back across to secure the joint.

"Thanks," she said once he was done, adjusting her strap. He shot her a small smile and moved toward the bag.

Amy stepped onto the mat and flexed her hands once inside the wraps. Jay was already holding the bag when she moved in, settling into stance without needing instruction.

She struck first— clean, controlled. The bag shifted, and he adjusted automatically. "You've been training with Antonio," he said after a few beats.

Amy didn't stop moving. "Yeah." She glanced at him, slowing the punches. "How did you know?"

"The technique you're using."

"Ah." She gave a short nod and picked up her punches again.

Jay held steady as her rhythm settled. "He teaching you to hit or just to look impressive doing it?"

Amy let out a chuckle. "Both, apparently."

"Hm." He shifted slightly. "Explains a lot."

She shot him a look. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"That you're getting better," he said simply.

She worked through another short combination. The pace stayed controlled, but there was a sharper edge now. After a moment, he spoke again. "Your aunt got arrested."

Amy didn't pause, only gave a small nod. "Yeah." She slowed just enough to catch her breath. "Hopefully it sticks this time."

A small smile tugged at his lips. "They'd be idiots not to tighten security."

She stepped back, brushing loose strands of hair from her face. "I don't want to think about her anymore." She caught her breath. "She's locked up. It's done."

Jay nodded once. "Alright."

He lowered the bag, giving her a second. Amy rolled her shoulder, testing the support. It held. She grabbed her water, took a quick sip, and set it back down.

"You good?" Jay asked.

"Yeah." She stepped forward again. "I'm good." This time she didn't ease into it.

The first hit came harder. Jay braced. She followed with another, then another— faster now, more focused. The rhythm shifted— sharper, tighter.

Jay didn't interrupt. He just held steady.

After a few beats, Amy slowed again, just enough to reset her stance. "You ever write?" she asked, more casually this time.

Jay glanced at her. "Write what?"

She hesitated, thinking through how to phrase it, then shrugged. "Nadia said she writes. That it helps her."

Jay adjusted his grip slightly. "Helps with what?"

Amy huffed softly. "Everything, I guess."

He thought about that. "Yeah... I've heard that." He shifted his stance. "You can't really say it out loud, so you just... write it instead." A pause. "Keeps it to yourself."

Amy didn't answer right away. "I tried," she said after a moment.

Jay looked at her. "Yeah?"

She shrugged. "Just sat there." Another hit. "Nothing came to mind."

Jay watched her for a second. "Nothing at all?"

Amy shook her head. "No words. Just... nothing." Her timing slipped. She stepped back and let the bag settle. "Switch."

Jay stepped in, catching the bag as it slowed. Amy moved behind it, bracing it with both hands. "Don't go easy," she said.

"I won't." He started controlled, the bag pushing into her grip. She held it steady. "You're overthinking it," he said between strikes.

"I'm not thinking anything. That's the problem." Another hit.

"Then write that."

She frowned. "Write what?"

"That nothing's coming to mind."

Amy steadied the bag. "That sounds pointless."

"Maybe." Another strike. "Still something."

She didn't respond. The rhythm settled again. Amy adjusted her footing as the bag pushed back.

"Feels like I should have something to say."

Jay slowed just enough to reset. "It'll come."

Amy didn't answer. She just held the bag steady as he picked up again, tightening her grip as it pushed back into her hands. 

After their boxing session, they showered and got ready. It was still too early to go to work, so they went to a diner.

The place was quiet at that hour— half-empty, mostly early regulars and people killing time before the day actually started. They slid into a booth.

The woman behind the counter noticed them almost immediately and came over with a warm smile, wiping her hands on her apron as she reached the table.

"Hey, you two." They greeted the older woman back. "You know," she said, leaning lightly on the edge of the booth, "we got this syrup shipped out last week, all the way from Vermont. It's really good. Would you like to try it out?"

Jay shook his head, briefly glancing at Amy. "No, thanks."

Amy followed a beat later. "We're good."

"The usual?"

"That'd be great," Jay said.

"Yeah," Amy added.

"Alright," the woman said with a smile. She straightened up and turned back toward the counter to put the order in.

Amy's gaze shifted to the window, watching a few cars pass outside. "Vermont," Jay said, drawing her attention. A small smile pulled at his lips.

"That's where the best syrup is from," she replied. "I've heard."

He nodded slightly. "Here you go, you two." The waitress came over with two cups of coffee and set them down in front of them.

"Thanks," Amy muttered, taking hers.

"Thank you," Jay said, picking his up a moment later. The waitress smiled and turned back toward the counter. He took a sip once she was gone.

He let out a hum, almost like he remembered something. "You know what, I know what you could journal about."

Her hand hovered near her mouth, the cup of coffee in her hand. She frowned slightly. "What?"

"Uhh, you could write about what a great partner I am." He tried to come off as serious, but a grin broke out on his face, betraying him.

She let out a chuckle, lowering her hand and putting the cup down. "Oh, yeah." Amy nodded along. "I could, but that would be a short entry," she added with a smile.

He stared back at her, wanting to seem offended— although, he wasn't. "Ouch," he muttered. His response got another quiet chuckle out of her, as she looked down at her coffee and his eyes lingered on her.

When she looked up again, he glanced away.

"It beats sitting in an office with some suit, so I'll figure it out." Amy let out a small sigh, as the waitress walked up to their booth again.

"Here you go." The waitress set the plates down in front of them.

"Thanks," Amy said.

"Thank you," Jay added. The waitress smiled and moved back toward the counter.

They started eating in silence for a moment, the usual rhythm settling back in.

Amy worked through her plate slowly, methodical, cutting the eggs into smaller pieces before eating.

Jay took a few bites, then glanced briefly at her plate before speaking, casual. "Protein is good after a workout."

She didn't look up right away. "Yeah," she said simply, continuing to eat.

They ate in a steady silence after that, finishing their coffee and plates without much more conversation.

When they were done, Jay left cash on the table. They headed out a moment later. The diner door closed behind them, and they made their way toward work.

When they entered the bullpen, Erin and Nadia were standing by Antonio's desk, mid-conversation.

"What's up?" Jay asked, picking up on the tension.

Erin turned to them. "Voight's not here. He's not answering his phone." She set what she was holding down on her desk. "I'm gonna go over there."

She looked to Amy. "You mind coming with me?"

"No," Amy replied, already moving to follow her.

The drive was quiet at first, the engine the only sound between them. Erin kept her eyes on the road, hands tight on the wheel. "He always answers," she said after a moment. "Or he calls back."

Amy didn't respond right away.

Erin glanced at her briefly before looking forward again. "And if he's not here, he usually tells someone. Jay, me... someone."

"He might've stepped out," Amy said.

Erin shook her head slightly. "Without his phone?" There was a beat of silence. "That's not like him."

Amy watched the street ahead, expression steady. "There's a reason for it."

Erin let out a quiet breath, almost frustrated. "Yeah, but what reason makes him not pick up?"

Amy didn't look at her. "We don't know yet." Another silence settled, heavier this time.

Erin's grip tightened again for a second before she forced it to loosen. "I just don't like it," she muttered.

Amy nodded once. "You don't have to." There was another brief pause. "Just don't jump to conclusions before we know what's actually going on."

Erin didn't answer right away. "...Yeah," she said after a moment, quieter now. The rest of the drive passed with less talking before she pulled over.

They stepped out of the car. As Amy shut the door, her eyes landed on the car by the sidewalk. "His car is here." That was weird.

She lingered behind Erin as they approached the front door. When they knocked on the door, there was no response.

Erin reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a key. Amy's attention shifted immediately, and Erin caught it. "I'm his favorite."

Amy stood by as Erin unlocked the door, then slipped the key back into her jacket as she stepped inside.

"Hank?" Erin called out.

Amy followed her in. "Sergeant?" She moved with Erin into the first room ahead.

A table sat in the middle, one of the chairs knocked over. Amy's eyes lifted toward the open entrance beyond it. "Back door."

They pulled out their guns as they moved into the kitchen. Erin's gaze dropped almost immediately to something on the floor. "Phone."

The cellphone was broken, pieces scattered near the counter. The back was empty.

Erin didn't hesitate. She moved toward the basement door and opened it, starting down the stairs carefully.

Amy stayed close behind. "Blood," Erin called.

It wasn't much, just a small smear along the floor near the bottom step, but it was enough. They reached the basement and slowed, taking it in. The hole in the wall stood out immediately. Amy's gaze moved over it, then back to Erin.

Erin didn't say anything, but the worry was there— clear in the way she looked at it, at the space, at everything that didn't make sense.

"We'll find him," Amy said. She holstered her gun and pulled out her phone, already dialing.

It rang once. "Jay," she said, steady. "Grab everyone and get to Voight's house. We've got a situation."

It didn't take long for the unit to arrive at the house.

"There are signs of struggle. We have a smashed phone, a chair on the floor. Also, the backdoor was open," Amy explained to the Detectives as they moved through the house. They stopped by the kitchen entrance. "The two cups on the table suggests that there was a second person here."

Antonio looked at the kitchen table, where he saw a cup of coffee and a cup of tea. "Voight's not the only one who got snatched."

The team split up and started searching the house.

Adam and Alvin went to the basement. Kevin and Antonio moved toward the back. Jay and Erin stayed in the kitchen with Amy.

She stepped closer to the table, glancing at the cup of tea— studying it. "There was a woman here."

Erin raised an eyebrow, looking at her. "Because of the tea?"

Amy shook her head slightly. "The lipgloss on the rim of the cup." This caused the other Detectives to pause and turn to each other in surprise.

"Hey," Antonio stepped inside. "Voight's got cameras outside."

"In the back?"

Antonio nodded. "Yeah."

Amy was already shifting focus. "Then we don't need to test the cup."

They headed back to the district soon after, where Amy took responsibility for reviewing the footage. She sat at her desk and pulled up the video from the back of the house.

She took screenshots, printed them out, and marked the timestamps.

The unit gathered as she started the briefing. "Voight had cameras at the front and back doors," Amy began, placing the photos onto the whiteboard as she spoke. "A young woman arrived at the house at 7:00 a.m. At 7:30, two unknown offenders entered through the back."

She turned to face the team.

"We can't confirm if Voight or the woman let them in. Five minutes later, the woman was seen leaving. One of the men escorted her back inside. And ten minutes after that, they exited through the back with Voight. He appears to be unconscious."

A beat of silence settled over the room. "We've got to put out an all-call and start a city-wide search," Jay said, his arms crossed.

Amy had her doubts about that— knowing Voight wouldn't want it out in the open. Alvin clearly felt the same.

"No," he said, standing by his desk behind Jay. "Because we don't know what Voight was into. We're bringing him home safe. We keep this in-house."

He glanced around the room. "Now— the girl is Olive Morgan. She's someone Justin dated when he was in town."

Erin nodded slightly. "Yeah, I remember her from back in the day. I wouldn't peg her for this."

"We need to run her through every database we've got," Antonio added. "See if her phone's active, get her family, credit cards. She could be connected to these two, whoever they are."

Jay frowned. "Connected? She could've set it up."

"For what it's worth," Kevin said, "Ruzek doesn't think they're local. He's trying something else."

It turned out Adam was on the right track. As the unit worked the leads, he came back with an ID. "Alright, the little guy," he spoke, putting a photo on the whiteboard. "Ian Marks. LKA came back Denver."

He had given the name to Jay already, who did some digging. "I ran his name through the face the nation database," Jay spoke. "His whole family's nothing but crooks. No match on the partner."

Antonio leaned on his desk, frustrated they hadn't gotten further. "The head of this unit's missing four hours already. We need more."

Nadia walked up and handed him a sheet of paper. "Detective."

Antonio frowned. "Cell phone towers?"

Adam turned away from the whiteboard. "That was fast."

"I flirted with the girl at U.S. Cellular," Nadia said.

Erin looked at Nadia. "Over the phone?"

"Yeah."

Antonio handed the paper to Amy, who scanned the content. "Idiot pinged a local tower. Looks like Marks called his family back in Denver."

Erin scoffed lightly. "Can't be that stupid."

"You choose Voight as a target," Jay said, "you can't be that smart."

Amy leaned on her desk, already typing on her keyboard. "I'll triangulate the pings and get a location."

Alvin nodded slightly. "I'll get the arrest warrant."

By the time the unit geared up, Amy had the location. Jay handed her a vest as they moved out. She put it on quickly, sending the coordinates to the team. They rolled out immediately.

They arrived at the house within minutes.

Kevin kicked the door open and the unit moved in. Amy went first, gun raised.

"The girl!" Hank yelled out. "The girl! The girl!"

Amy pushed forward and reached the room first. Hank was on the floor, blood on his face.

Olive was in worse condition— tied to a chair, a plastic bag over her head, tape over her mouth. Amy holstered her weapon instantly and crossed the room, ripping the plastic away and removing the tape.

She lightly patted the younger woman's cheek until she stirred. Erin moved in to check on Hank.

It took Olive a moment to register what was happening. When she finally came to, Amy pulled out a knife and cut her loose.

"They were—" Olive gasped, panicked. "They were gonna kill the baby. They said— they said they were gonna kill the baby."

She was shaken up, but she insisted that she was fine and didn't need a hospital. Hank was just as stubborn. After speaking with Olive alone for a moment, Amy moved on to Hank.

He was standing in the hallway with Erin, insisting he was fine and assuring her he'd get checked out later. Amy held out a water bottle, which he was quick to turn down. "I'm good."

Her gaze didn't waver, her hand still extended. Hank knew she wasn't going to back down. He took the water.

"She won't say much," she told them, as he sipped the water. "But she did say she's met Ian before."

Hank closed the bottle and nodded slightly, anger flashing in his eyes. "I'll talk to her." He moved past the Detectives and toward the younger woman.

Amy stepped back and moved to the dresser, resting her hand lightly against the edge as the rest of the unit gathered in the hallway.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Antonio shifted his weight, glancing toward the other room, where Hank and Olive were. Kevin stood beside him, arms folded, eyes fixed ahead. Erin lingered closer to the wall, trying to listen to the conversation between their Sergeant and the younger woman. Alvin remained a few steps back, steady, watching the room more than the door.

Amy stayed where she was, posture relaxed but alert.

Jay took the spot next to her, his arms crossed. "She say anything?" His voice was low.

"She's met Ian before," Amy said, matching his tone. "That's all she gave me. Voight might get more out of her."

Jay nodded once. "Hope so."

A quiet beat settled over the hallway.

Hank moved out from the room where Olive was, already mid-conversation, cutting it short as he stepped into the hall. "I want everyone back at the district digging into Ian Marks," he said. "Alvin and I are talking to Olive's friend. Move out."

There was no pushback. The unit turned and headed out.

////

OLIVE'S FRIEND, Josie, was a dead-end.

Hank and Alvin talked to her, but weren't able to get anything useful. The team had followed every lead they could, but none of it pointed to the second offender.

Amy sat at her desk, trying to look for anything that could help them, but was coming up empty. The sound of her phone ringing cut through the silence. She picked it up. "Hughes."

"Hey," Marco answered. "I just wanted to let you know that your two robber friends came to my store today."

Her posture shifted almost imperceptibly—shoulders straightening, attention narrowing as the words landed. Her eyes lifted slightly from the desk.

"I told them I only accept card payments and they fell for it, just like you said they would," he continued.

"You got a name?"

"I did. I'll send it you right now." Marco hung up the call.

Amy kept her eyes on the phone and waited for the text, and then it came. 'Lukasz Gregorie.' Her hands moved to the keyboard, already typing his name on the search engine.

"I got a name," she announced, heads snapped in her direction, just as the results pupped up, which were disappointing. "Lukasz Gregorie is the second offender." She looked up from the screen. "No criminal record."

She leaned back on her chair, already thinking of ways to find him and reasons to bring him in. "How'd you get his name?" Erin asked.

"My CI," Amy answered. "He told me Gregorie and Marks were at his store today. He told them they only accept card payments and Gregorie fell for it."

Erin let out a small scoff, shaking her head, not believing that Gregorie would fall for that trick.

Amy glanced at Erin for a moment, then looked away without responding, eyes shifting to the whiteboard. Ian Marks' photo was pinned next to Olive's friend— both potential paths to Gregorie.

Josie hadn't given them anything useful. Marks still could.

A beat passed.

Then she reached for her phone and dialed Marco, who answered after the second ring. "Yeah?"

"I need a favor," she said, her voice low. "It's about Ian Marks and his family in Denver. Police over there are, let's say, investigating them. I need the word out."

There was a brief pause on the line— long enough for Marco to understand exactly what she was asking without her spelling it out.

"Got it," he said, before they hung up. Now, she had to wait.

Jay had been watching her quietly from his desk. After a moment, he got up, crossed the room, and took the seat next to her desk. "What was that?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

Amy didn't look up right away. "I'm reaching out to Ian."

Jay glanced at her. "How?"

"Through his family in Denver. He risked calling them after the abduction," she said, a small shrug. "Figured he cares."

He gave a slight nod, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Smart. You think it'll work?"

She paused for a moment. "Everything about him says it might." A beat. "Doesn't mean it will."

"Tell me we got something," Hank's voice cut through the room as he walked in, Alvin trailing behind him.

"We got the name of the second offender," Amy said, looking over at him. "Lukasz Gregorie."

"He doesn't have a criminal record," Jay added. "It's not going to be easy to track him down."

Hank glanced between the two Detectives, before shifting his attention to the rest of the unit. Nodding slightly to himself, he knew they weren't getting further tonight.

He could tell some of them were tired. "We're done for today," Hank said. "Go home, get some rest. We'll hit it again in the morning."

No one pushed back.

The unit started packing up, chairs shifting, quiet movement filling the bullpen.

Amy grabbed her jacket. Jay did the same, falling into step beside her as they headed out.

////

IT WAS FOUR IN THE morning when Amy and Jay were driving to the gym. Knowing she had a Red Bull waiting for her back at the apartment was the only thing keeping her going.

She sat in the passenger seat, glancing out the window as he drove. The streets were almost empty. They went over the plan, talked through it again. She told him she was ready to train without the bandages— at least, try to.

In the back of her mind, though, Amy kept circling back to Ian. To how he might react to the plan she'd set in motion.

Her phone ringing brought her out of her thoughts and she picked it up almost immediately. "Hughes."

"Ian just left my store," Marco's panicked voice said.

Amy's posture slightly changed as she glanced at Jay, who noticed the shift and looked back at her. "What happened?"

"The plan worked and he's pissed," Marco explained. "I did as you told me. I said the word came from you and now he wants to meet you. It was a bad idea to give him your name, I shouldn't have—"

"No, it was the right thing to do," Amy interrupted him, firmly. "Did he mention where and when he wanted to meet?"

Jay glanced over at her, trying to piece together the conversation, a flicker of frustration in his expression. "At my store," Marco told her. "In three hours."

After the brief phone conversation, Amy turned to her partner to tell him everything. "Ian wants to meet me at Marco's store in three hours."

His face dropped. "He wants to meet you? Why?"

"He knows I put the word out about his family and probably wants to confront me," she shrugged lightly. "He's not the smart one between the two and he could be erratic."

"I'll be there," Jay responded without hesitation. "I'll be close."

"Do we tell Voight?" There was a brief pause as they thought it over. "He'd want to involve the unit and that could be risky."

"We can say we have a lead involving Marks and we are following that lead."

Amy nodded slightly. "Yeah, that could work."

Three hours later, she walked into Marco's store, Jay staying close.

Marco was already inside, standing near the counter but not really settled there. He looked like he'd been that way for a while— shoulders tight, eyes flicking to the door every few seconds like he expected it to break open on its own.

Amy noticed it immediately, but didn't match his energy. She stayed calm, letting her eyes move through the space once— front windows, corners, exits— before she looked back at him.

"It's fine," she said quietly. "Just do what you did before. Keep it simple."

Marco gave a small nod, but it didn't take the edge off him. The store felt too still after that. Even the hum of the street outside seemed distant.

Amy shifted slightly as she stepped closer to the counter, her injured shoulder reminding her with a dull pull. She kept her movement controlled, careful— not favoring it, just adjusting without thinking too much about it.

Another second passed.

Then—

Glass exploded inward.

The first shot ripped through the front window. It happened fast.

Amy's body moved before the sound fully registered, instinct taking over. She grabbed Marco and yanked him down behind the counter, using her good arm while the other tightened on reflex— pain flashing through her shoulder as she pulled him.

"Down!" she snapped.

Another shot followed, tearing through the storefront where they'd just been standing. Marco hit the floor hard, breathing sharp and panicked.

Amy stayed low beside him, already shifting to cover, jaw tight as she pushed through the pain in her shoulder and reached for her weapon, as shots were fired at them.

She returned fire in controlled bursts, moving at the same time— using the counter as cover as she angled toward the side of the store where the shots were coming from. Her shoulder burned with every motion, a sharp reminder she couldn't afford to ignore, but she kept it steady.

Outside, Jay was in position, weapon drawn, returning fire from a better angle down the street. His shots forced Ian to shift, breaking his line of fire on the storefront.

Ian hesitated for a fraction of a second, then he turned his weapon toward Jay.

That window was enough and Amy moved.

She pushed forward from behind cover, closing the angle toward the front door as the glass fractured further around her. Pain spiked through her shoulder again, but she ignored it, locking in.

Ian was focused outside now— on Jay. Amy raised her weapon and fired through the glass door.

The shot hit its mark.

Ian went down hard, collapsing with a shout of pain, his weapon dropping beside him. The firing stopped almost immediately.

Jay moved in fast, covering the distance and securing Ian before he could recover, kicking the weapon away and bringing him under control. 

Amy stayed at the threshold for a second longer, breathing steady but controlled, weapon still raised until she confirmed it was over.

Only then did she lower it slightly, shoulder still aching as adrenaline started to fade. She locked eyes with Jay as he handcuffed Ian.

They both knew what came next.

Amy stepped forward, keeping her weapon trained for another second before holstering it. Ian was already struggling, cursing under his breath, pain setting in fast.

"Stay still," she said, firm.

She reached down, pulling his belt free in one quick motion and tightening it around his thigh, just above the wound. Ian tried to pull away, but Jay kept a firm grip on him.

The two Detectives hauled him to his feet. Jay didn't let go, dragging him toward the car.

Once Ian was in the cage, the door clanging shut behind him, they called Hank.

He arrived at the district already knowing about the shooting and the meet. He didn't say much when he walked in— just took in the room, the cage, Ian sitting inside with a wound wrapped at his thigh, still restrained and watchful.

Jay shifted like he was about to step in, ready to defend what they'd done and why they hadn't brought it to Hank sooner.

Hank saw it immediately and lifted a hand. "We're gonna talk later," he said flatly. "What do we have?"

Amy stepped in first. "Ian is willing to cooperate. He's going to call Gregorie and set up a meet." Hank's eyes stayed on her for a moment— not approving, not dismissive, just measuring. "We send in someone in his place, and once we've got Gregorie boxed in, we move in."

The Sergeant's brows furrowed slightly. "Why isn't Ian going to the meet?"

"If Gregorie sees him wounded," Jay said, arms loosely crossed, "he's going to clock something's off. We lose him."

"We talked about sending Ruzek," Amy added.

Hank nodded slowly. "I'm calling the unit. Set up the meet." He turned and walked out.

Chicago Boat Tours was already active when they arrived.

Amy and Jay blended in quickly, taking a small table near the walking path like any other pair of tourists waiting for a ride. Casual clothes, relaxed posture— nothing that drew attention. Just another couple in the crowd.

From there, Amy's eyes moved constantly without seeming like it. Dock entrances. Foot traffic. Sightlines.

And Adam.

He was further down the walkway, hood up, positioned exactly where he needed to be— still, waiting, unremarkable.

Jay leaned back slightly in his chair. "Can't believe I haven't been here before. It's nice." His eyes were on her as he spoke.

She glanced at him, mostly keeping her attention on their surroundings. "Yeah, it's not bad."

He leaned on the table, not looking away, a faint smile on his face. "We could come here, you know. On a day off."

Amy finally looked at him, longer than a second this time, like she was actually considering it. "Maybe." When she turned her attention away this time, a familiar figure caught her attention. "He's here."

Jay turned and saw him too. He pressed the button on his radio on the table to alert the unit, "target is here."

Gregorie scanned the area once, then again, more focused now— until his attention locked onto the grey hoodie down the walkway.

Adam didn't move.

Gregorie started forward.

Slow at first. Measured. Then more certain as Adam turned and began walking, pulling away from the busiest part of the dock.

"Now," Amy said quietly. They stood at the same time.

Jay moved right, blending into the flow of people. She went left, taking a wider angle, eyes locked on Gregorie.

No rush. No noise. Just control.

Gregorie followed Adam past the densest part of the crowd, the sound of tourists fading as they moved closer to the edge of the dock area.

Amy picked up her pace, and so did Jay.

They passed Gregorie from opposite sides— just two people moving through a busy space— and then slowed again behind him.

Amy stepped into his path abruptly, cutting him off. Gregorie stopped instantly, eyes snapping to her, confusion flashing across his face.

Behind him, Jay was already there. "Don't move," he said, gun drawn, steady.

Gregorie turned slightly, trying to reassess— and froze again as Amy closed the distance without hesitation. She didn't give him time to reset.

"Hands behind your back," she said.

For a moment, he resisted— just enough to test it. Then the cuffs clicked into place.

Adam arrived seconds later, stopping as he took in the scene.

Gregorie didn't speak. He just looked past Amy and Jay— and smirked when his eyes landed on Hank.

Hank walked over slowly, face unreadable, eyes locked on him. He ignored Gregorie entirely and reached down, picking up the black bag where it had fallen.

"Move," Amy said, giving Gregorie a push. She and Jay dragged him away.

////

AMY SAT AT HER APARTMENT table with a notebook open in front of her, the page still mostly blank. The apartment was quiet in a way that felt heavier after a day like this, like everything had finally stopped moving and she was expected to catch up with it.

She held a pen loosely between her fingers, staring at the empty space for a long time before she wrote anything at all. When she finally did, the letters came slowly, uneven.

'I don't know what to say.'

She exhaled through her nose, almost frustrated with the simplicity of it, like even that felt like failure. The pen stayed hovering above the page for a moment before she added more underneath.

'Writing is harder than I thought it would be.'

That made her pause again. She leaned back slightly in her chair, eyes flicking over the words as if she expected them to change or make more sense if she looked long enough.

They didn't.

Her gaze dropped back to the page, and this time she didn't write immediately. The hesitation lingered longer than the words themselves. Eventually, she started again, slower now, more careful.

'I've been thinking about telling Jay something.'

Her hand stopped there.

The sentence sat unfinished, heavier than the rest. She stared at it for a while, thumb brushing lightly against the edge of the pen as if that small motion could push her forward. But she didn't add anything else.

Not yet.

You were an apothecary. Your hands, unlike the delicate, pearl-powdered hands of the concubines, were covered in tiny, calloused spots from the heavy stone mortar and pestle. Your fingertips had forever absorbed the yellowish tint of turmeric, the dark traces of belladonna juice, and the persistent, bitter scent of wormwood. Your path to these chambers had been long and arduous, but your exceptional knowledge of anatomy, toxicology, and the properties of medicinal herbs made you indispensable. So indispensable, in fact, that you were hired full-time personally for Gyokuyo—one of the most influential and beautiful women of the Empire, the Emperor’s favorite concubine and the full-fledged mistress of the Jade Pavilion.

The Jade Pavilion stood in stark contrast to other parts of the palace. Here, an atmosphere of relative peace and comfort reigned, devoid of the usual palace tension, and in many ways, this was the merit of Gyokuyo herself. The girl with striking pink hair, reminiscent of liquid sunset, and eyes the color of purest, polished jade, was sharp-witted, insightful, and surprisingly kind to her maids. But as her personal physician, spending hours with her in private, you saw what was artfully hidden from the rest behind polite smiles and the flutter of painted fans. You saw the golden cage whose bars were slowly but surely breaking the wings of this beautiful bird.

Your days consisted of routine: preparing strengthening decoctions from ginseng and licorice root, creating safe cosmetics from natural pigments without traces of poisonous lead, meticulously checking every dish on her table, and, of course, regular medical exams. However, in the last few months, these "exams" had begun to occur with an alarming, almost painful frequency.

Gyokuyo found any, even the most insignificant, excuse to summon you to her private chambers. A slight headache, sudden weakness, phantom tingling in her fingers, insomnia, anxious dreams—the symptoms multiplied every day. Your trained eye and sensitive fingers, probing the meridians of her pulse, found not the slightest sign of illness. Physically, her body functioned perfectly. But you could not, and did not want to, refuse your Mistress. You would come, bringing your carved wooden box of tools and herbs, sit in your usual place beside her luxurious bed, and perform your work flawlessly.

And every time you were near, the density of the air in the room would imperceptibly change, becoming electrified.

It was a warm, stuffy summer evening. The air in the Jade Pavilion felt thick with the heavy scent of blooming lotus and expensive sandalwood incense wafting from bronze bowls. Hongniang, the head maid, left the room with a deep bow. The click of the heavy carved doors closing tightly sounded in the silence like a gunshot, leaving you completely alone.

You sat on a small wooden stool by Gyokuyo's bed. The concubine was half-reclining among silk pillows embroidered with gold. She wore only a light, translucent undergarment of deep crimson, which contrasted with the porcelain, almost sickly pallor of her skin. Her hair fell in a heavy, shimmering wave over her bare shoulder.

"You complained of a rapid heartbeat, Mistress," you said quietly. Your voice sounded steady, maintaining a professional tone, though inside, beneath your ribs, everything tightened from the weight of her intense, unblinking gaze.

"Yes," her voice came with a slight, uncharacteristic huskiness. "I feel as if my heart is beating too fast. Especially in the evenings. Check my pulse."

She slowly held out her thin, graceful hand. You carefully supported her wrist, trying not to press too hard. Your skin, slightly rough from constant work with reagents, touched her incredibly soft, velvety skin. You pressed three fingers to her radial artery, concentrating on the throb of blood, mentally counting the rhythm.

One, two, three...

The pulse was indeed rapid. It beat fast and jaggedly, like the wings of a butterfly trapped in a net. But your medical experience shouted: this was not a symptom of pathology. This was pure, undiluted adrenaline. A symptom of intense agitation.

You looked up from her wrist and found that Gyokuyo was looking straight at you. Her jade eyes had darkened into deep pools; there was no trace left of her usual palace playfulness or cunning. They held a heavy, viscous longing and something so naked that it took your breath away. Her free hand slowly rose into the air and, with a light, almost weightless motion, touched a stray lock of hair, carefully tucking it behind your ear.

Your fingers on her pulse trembled treacherously. The rhythm of her heart under your fingertips jumped even higher.

"Your heartbeat... it is indeed accelerated," you muttered, desperately trying to maintain the distance between healer and patient, although your own heart was now beating against your ribs with such force that it echoed in your ears. "Perhaps it is a reaction to the summer heat. I will prepare a soothing decoction for you made of peppermint, chamomile, and dried valerian root..."

"I don't need chamomile," she interrupted sharply. Her fingers slid from your hair onto your cheek, burning your skin with their warmth. "And the heat has absolutely nothing to do with it. Can it be that you, being such an outstanding, brilliant apothecary, cannot diagnose your own Mistress?"

You froze, afraid to even take a breath. The illusions collapsed. You had understood everything long ago. You had noticed her long gazes. You had felt how she subconsciously clung to your hands during routine exams, how her breath caught when you leaned in too close to examine the color of her mucosa. But to admit this aloud meant to voluntarily cross a line beyond which lay treason against the Emperor. A crime punishable by a slow death.

"Mistress..." your voice faltered shamefully. "I heal the body. I know herbs and poisons. But I cannot heal that which is beyond the reach of logic and medicine."

Gyokuyo smiled a bitter, broken smile. She removed her hand from your cheek and turned away, staring blankly at the silk screen.

"Tomorrow he will come again," she said quietly, almost lifelessly. Her shoulders tensed, and her voice trembled with suppressed, suffocating disgust. "The Emperor. He will come to my chambers. He will touch me with his strong hands, speak to me of his boundless love, and I will be obliged to smile. I am obliged to be submissive, affectionate, an ideal porcelain doll who has no right to her own feelings."

Her thin shoulders shook in a silent cry. In all your years at the palace, this was the first time you had seen her so defenseless, so utterly broken.

"Every time he touches me, I want to tear my skin off alive, just to wash away his traces," Gyokuyo whispered. A single tear rolled down her cheek, leaving a wet trail. "I belong to him like a rare, expensive vase in his collection. But my soul, my heart... they haven't been here for a long time. They are slowly rotting and suffocating in this luxurious cage."

You couldn't hold back. Professional ethics, the fear of imperial wrath instilled over years, the cold common sense of a scholar—all of this crumbled to dust when confronted with her genuine pain. You leaned forward, leaving the stool, and firmly clasped her cold, trembling hands with your calloused ones.

"Gyokuyo..." you said her name for the first time just like that, without respectful suffixes or titles. It sounded like a spell.

She turned her head sharply toward you. Her eyes glistened with tears, framed by wet lashes.

"I call for you every day not because I am sick," her voice broke into a desperate, feverish whisper. "I call for you because only beside you can I take a full breath. Your scent—the smell of bitter herbs, dried roots, dusty books, and pure water—is the only thing that drives away the cloying stench of this palace. I love you. I love your serious, forever-analyzing eyes, your hands calloused from work, your absolute, incorruptible devotion. I can no longer and do not want to belong to him. I want to belong only to you."

The confession hung in the stale air of the room, heavy, inevitable, and deadly dangerous. Your heart bled, but your mind was crystal clear. You, a simple apothecary with no lineage, and she, the Jade Mistress, mother of potential heirs. This was pure madness. It was a direct, torch-lit path into the abyss. But looking at her tear-stained face, you realized that you had been voluntarily falling into this abyss along with her for a very long time, and you did not want the fall to end.

You slowly let go of her hands, raised your hands, and carefully cupped her face. With your thumbs, you wiped the moisture from her flushed cheeks.

"This is the most complex, the most dangerous poison we have ever drunk," you whispered, looking straight into the depths of her jade eyes, accepting the rules of this deadly game.

"Then become my antidote," she exhaled directly onto your lips.

You did not resist her or yourself any longer. The distance remaining between you vanished, and your lips covered hers. The kiss was saturated with the salt of her tears, the desperation of long months of languid waiting, and suddenly ignited, all-consuming passion. Gyokuyo let out a quiet, half-strangled moan directly into your mouth and leaned forward sharply. She wrapped her arms around your neck, pulling you toward her with such frantic force as if she feared you would crumble into ash.

Her lips proved to be incredibly soft, hot, and pliant. She returned the kiss with the greed of a person who had wandered the desert for a long time; her tongue slipped impatiently behind the line of your lips, intertwining with yours, exploring, tasting with an almost frightening thirst. There wasn't a drop of that measured, artificial submission in this kiss that she demonstrated to the Emperor; in it swirled a wild, primal need and an absolute right of ownership.

You moved from the stool to the edge of the wide bed, the fabric of your simple dress rustling against the silk sheets. Your hands buried themselves in her thick, heavy hair, massaging her scalp, while she frantically kissed your jaw, moving down to your neck, leaving hot, wet trails on your pulsing veins. She smelled of rose oil and musk—heavy, suffocating palace perfume—but beneath this mask, you finally felt her true, natural scent: sweet, clean, slightly tart, driving you mad.

"Let me... let me wash this palace off you," you rasped, struggling to pull away for a moment to look into her face.

Her eyes burned with a dark, feverish glint. She nodded convulsively, often. Your fingers, accustomed to measuring milligrams of deadly poisons with surgical precision and unwavering calm, were now, with the same precision but with incredible trepidation, untying the complex knots of the silk ribbons of her undergarment. Thin crimson silk slid from her shoulders, revealing her ideal, pale body, as if carved from ivory. The warm light of dozens of candles played on her sharp collarbones, on the soft curves of her small but firm breasts, whose peaks were already hardened with arousal.

You touched her skin with reverence, almost religiously. Unlike the Emperor's rough, possessive caresses, accustomed to taking what belonged to him, your touch was gentle, exploratory. You read her body like the rarest, most valuable medical manuscript in the world. Gyokuyo shivered violently and arched her back, leaning toward you, when your lips touched the sensitive hollow between her breasts. You slowly moved lower, leaving light, teasing kisses on her flat stomach, feeling with your cheek how her muscles trembled and tensed under your hot breath.

"Your hands... they are so cool," she moaned, burying her thin fingers in your hair and slightly pulling it at the roots when your palms confidently rested on her thighs, spreading them apart.

"Are you cold?" you whispered, pressing your lips to the most tender inner side of her thigh, feeling the vein pulsing there.

"No... I am unbearably hot... I beg you, please..." her voice broke into an open plea.

You heeded this plea. Your lips confidently found her most sensitive center. Gyokuyo cried out loudly, piercingly, but her scream successfully drowned in the dense down pillows she instinctively pressed to her face so as not to betray you. Your tongue moved skillfully and calculatedly, alternating wide, wet strokes with precise, rhythmic pressure on nerve endings. You knew the anatomy of the female body better than anyone in the entire Empire, and now your entire scientific arsenal was thrown into driving the woman beneath you to a ringing frenzy.

Her hips instinctively, in time with your movements, surged forward to meet your caresses. Her fingers dug into your shoulders through the fabric of your dress, leaving crescent-shaped nail marks on your skin. You felt with your lips and tongue how she became incredibly wet; her sweet juices mixed with your saliva, creating an intoxicating, dazing nectar, the taste of which you had never known before.

When you, having prepared her, smoothly introduced two fingers into her, she exhaled sharply, with a whistle, her back arching in a steep curve, lifting off the mattress. You moved inside her—deep, slow, stretching her pliant vaults, while your thumb continued to relentlessly, without breaking rhythm, stimulate her clitoris.

"Yes... oh gods, yes..." Gyokuyo sobbed, finally losing all control over her body and voice. For her, there no longer existed the high walls of the Inner Court, nor deadly intrigues, nor the Emperor. In this universe, which had shrunk to the size of a bed, there existed only your hands, your lips, and that roaring forest fire you had ignited in her veins.

You smoothly increased the tempo. Your fingers entered deep, rhythmically hitting sensitive walls, wringing out moans from her that sounded more beautiful to your ears than any lute. You felt how the muscles inside her began to tighten, spasmodically clenching around your fingers. Her breathing became intermittent, short, almost canine.

"I... I am now..." she exhaled, her jade eyes rolling back, revealing the whites.

You accelerated the movements of your tongue and fingers to the absolute limit, bringing the stimulation to a peak. With a long, drawn-out, primitive cry of liberation, muffled by the pillow, Gyokuyo plunged into a shining abyss of orgasm. Her body was shaken by powerful, uncontrollable spasms. She squeezed your shoulders with monstrous force; her loins fiercely pulsed around your fingers, generously washing them in hot, thick waves of her release. You did not stop, continuing to gently caress her nerve endings until the last, fading waves of pleasure subsided, leaving her breathing heavily, weak, covered in sweat, but absolutely, totally relaxed.

You slowly, carefully pulled away and rose, lying down beside her on the hopelessly rumpled, wet sheets. Gyokuyo immediately shifted close, as if seeking protection. She buried her flushed face in your neck, convulsively gulping for air. Her skin was covered in a thin layer of glistening sweat.

You embraced her tightly, pressing her pliant body to you. Your fingers were covered in her juices, and your lips were slightly swollen from kisses. In the silence that followed, broken only by your synchronizing breathing, you both clearly understood one thing: the Rubicon had been crossed. After this night, there is no turning back.

"I can no longer bear his touch," Gyokuyo said into the semi-darkness of the room, quietly but with frightening firmness. "If he touches me tomorrow, I think I will just die on the spot."

You hugged her tighter, burying your nose in her strands. At this moment, your cold mind as an outstanding apothecary was already running at full power, casting aside emotions and building a complex, calculated, multi-stage plan.

"Then we will make sure that neither he nor anyone else will ever touch you again."

The next six months were the most dangerous period of your lives, walking on a razor's edge. Outwardly, the scenery hadn't changed by a jot. You came for planned exams, Gyokuyo continued to smile charmingly at the Emperor when he visited her pavilion. But every free second, every stolen glance, you dedicated to planning the impossible.

You knew perfectly well that simply running away beyond the walls was suicide. The missing Jade Mistress would be sought by chain dogs throughout the Empire; they would turn over every stone, burn every village. To disappear forever, Gyokuyo had to die in front of everyone.

The plan was insanely risky and required the activation of all your fundamental knowledge in the field of pharmacology, toxicology, and physiology. In secret from everyone, at night, you began to synthesize a complex preparation. Its base consisted of purified tetrodotoxin—an extract from the poisonous glands of the fugu fish, capable of blocking nerve impulses. To neutralize its deadly phase, you added a strict, milligram-adjusted extract of aconite root and mandrake juice. You had to secretly test dosages on small rodents, calculating the ideal proportion based on Gyokuyo's exact weight and metabolism. This substance was supposed to plunge a person into a state of the deepest artificial catalepsy. Heartbeat would slow to one beat per minute, breathing would become so shallow that a mirror held to her lips would not fog up. Even the most experienced palace physician would certify biological death. The half-life of the toxins in the blood was exactly forty-eight hours. This window was enough to hold an official funeral rite and carry the sealed sarcophagus beyond the Inner Court to the ancestral crypt.

In parallel, like clockwork, Gyokuyo began to brilliantly simulate a sharp deterioration in health. You regularly, with a professionally concerned face, reported to the chief court physician about a strange, aggressive disease that had struck the Mistress. You demonstrated falsified blood samples with added coagulants, used special decoctions that caused an earthy paleness of the face and a local rise in temperature. The palace was filled with alarming rumors, like a beehive. The Emperor was in a rage and despair; he sent the best doctors from all over the country, but their theories time after time shattered against your skillfully constructed, medically impeccable false symptoms.

Gyokuyo played her final role flawlessly. She weakened rapidly before everyone's eyes, refused food, her cheeks sank. But when the heavy doors of the pavilion closed, you embraced tightly, kissing each other until you bruised, drawing strength from this secret, knowing that freedom—real freedom—was already at the doorstep.

Finally, the hour of X arrived. It was the end of a cold, windy autumn; large-scale preparations for the Winter Solstice Festival were underway in the palace. The general bustle, noise, and distracted attention of the guards were more than beneficial to you.

You came to her chambers late at night. Hidden under the sleeve of your robe was a small crystal vial with a viscous, transparent liquid.

Gyokuyo sat on the bed, already dressed in ritual white attire. There wasn't a drop of fear in her eyes. She was absolutely, frighteningly calm.

"Are you afraid?" you asked quietly, sitting beside her and taking her icy palm into your warm hands.

"I fear only one thing—that I won't wake up, or I will wake up and you won't be by my side," she smiled softly, her jade eyes glowing with unwavering, steel determination. "Come. I am ready to leave this world."

With a steady hand, she took the vial from your fingers. The liquid was unbearably bitter, scorching like death itself. She drank it to the last drop without even flinching.

"We have about ten minutes before the alkaloids paralyze the central nervous system," you wrapped your arms around her, pressing her to your chest, feeling how her muscles began to involuntarily relax and her body—to rapidly grow heavy.

"I will wait for you on the other side," she whispered with a tongue that was getting tangled. Her eyelids grew heavy and began to slowly close. "My... beloved apothecary..."

Exactly eight minutes later, her respiratory muscles stopped. Her pulse on the carotid artery could be felt only as a faint, microscopic throb once every minute and a half. Her body temperature began to drop rapidly. For the rest of the world, the dazzling Jade Mistress was dead.

You checked all the reflexes, made sure the drug had worked perfectly, allowed yourself to shed a few genuine tears from the colossal nervous tension so that your eyes would become red, and then ran out into the corridor, emitting a piercing scream full of genuine, blood-chilling grief.

The palace was plunged into the deepest mourning. The Emperor was inconsolable and did not leave his chambers for several days. As her loyal personal physician, you insisted on washing and preparing the body for burial yourself, without witnesses, citing a high risk of infection from an unknown, aggressive infection. None of the frightened servants or physicians dared to contradict you.

The state funeral took place the next day. Gyokuyo's body in a heavy, resin-sealed mahogany sarcophagus was carried by a procession to the Imperial Mausoleum located in a valley outside the capital. As soon as the sounds of ritual drums faded in the distance and the procession left the city gates, you gathered your meager belongings under the cover of the descending night, hid a pre-prepared complex antidote-stimulant on your chest, and disappeared from the Inner Court forever, dissolving into the shadows as if you had never existed there.

Breaking into the stone mausoleum turned out to be a matter of technique. The few guards slept the sleep of the dead from memorial wine, into which you had carefully added a horse dose of a powerful sedative extract the day before. Using an iron crowbar wrapped in cloth so as not to make noise, you pried open the sarcophagus lid. With a sinking heart, with trembling hands, you poured the caustic antidote into Gyokuyo's pale, cold lips, massaging her throat to induce a swallowing reflex, and began to wait.

These minutes in the cold crypt, smelling of damp earth and incense, seemed like an eternity. You desperately rubbed her frozen limbs, mentally going through the poison formula, praying to all the known gods that your mathematical calculations of metabolism would prove correct.

And suddenly her chest twitched convulsively with a click. She took her first deep, hoarse, painful breath, inhaling the musty air of the tomb. Her jade eyes flew open in the absolute darkness of the crypt.

"Gyokuyo!" you sobbed aloud, falling to your knees and embracing her, feeling with your skin how, together with the frantic beating of her heart, life-saving warmth returned to her body.

She smiled weakly, uncertainly, hugging you in return with disobedient arms.

"I told you... I would wait for you, even in the kingdom of the dead."

You quickly changed her into pre-stocked simple, coarse peasant clothes, hid her conspicuous, luxurious red hair under a thick linen scarf, and, leaving the empty sarcophagus behind, dissolved into the thick night forest, forever leaving the limits of the golden cage.

Three peaceful, sun-filled years passed. The Inner Court, the Emperor with his endless concubines, and deadly political intrigues now seemed like a distant, almost unreal mirage from a past life.

On the very edge of a deep deciduous forest, at the foot of emerald-green mountains, stood a small but sturdily built wooden house. A vast, carefully maintained garden spread around it, where medicinal herbs grew in strict, verified rows: peppermint, soothing lemon balm, valuable ginseng root, chamomile, and even dangerous aconite, fenced off by a separate fence. The air here was always crystal clear, steeped in the primordial aroma of damp earth, wildflowers, and pine needles.

You sat on a sun-drenched wooden porch, grinding dried plantain leaves in a stone mortar with a familiar, measured movement. Local peasants from the nearest village at the foot of the mountain knew you as a skillful, if a bit unsociable, herbalist who brewed potions capable of getting someone back on their feet after any fever. They paid you generously with fresh vegetables, grain, eggs, and coarse fabric—this was more than enough for a simple but well-fed and peaceful life for the two of you.

The heavy oak door of the house creaked, and Gyokuyo stepped out onto the porch. There was no trace left of the former Jade Mistress, once draped in silk. She wore a simple, loose dress of unbleached linen. Her pink hair, no longer pulled into complex hairstyles by heavy gold hairpins, fell freely down her back, held back only by a simple canvas ribbon. Her once-pale skin had acquired a healthy, golden tan in the sun, and light calluses had appeared on her thin fingers from working with the soil in the garden. But to you, she had become a thousand times more beautiful, more alive. In her clear jade eyes, there now constantly shone something that had never been in the stuffy walls of the palace—absolute, unbridled freedom and deep inner serenity.

In her hands, she carried a wicker basket with mushrooms freshly picked in the forest, and two cats tangled at her feet, begging for attention. One was bright ginger, incredibly graceful and headstrong—a perfect fluffy copy of its mistress. The second cat was calm, gray-striped, with an eternally thoughtful look; it preferred to sleep for days on your open medical books.

"You are working without a break again," Gyokuyo said with a soft, loving smile, settling down beside you on the sun-warmed wooden steps.

The ginger cat immediately jumped onto her lap in a proprietary manner, purring loudly and demandingly, while the gray one lazily rubbed its side against your ankle.

"The village elder needs a strong expectorant cough medicine by evening. I'm adding licorice root," you replied, not interrupting the measured thumping of the pestle against the mortar.

Gyokuyo leaned closer, her warm shoulder pressing firmly against yours. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply the scent emanating from your working hands.

"I will never tire of this fragrance in my life," she purred contentedly. "The smell of herbs, earth, and freedom. It's better than any imperial incense."

You set the pestle aside, wiped your hands on a canvas apron, and turned to her. Your hands, stained with fresh greenish herbal juice, carefully hugged her thin waist.

"Do you have any regrets?" you asked quietly, carefully studying her face, although you had asked this question more than a hundred times over the years. "About the finest silks, about luxury, about high status, about servants?"

Gyokuyo opened her eyes and looked at you with the same ardent, all-consuming love as on that first, decisive night in the Jade Pavilion. She raised her hand and affectionately, with the pad of her thumb, stroked your cheek.

"A golden cage, inlaid with the most expensive stones, still remains just a slaughterhouse cage," her voice was full of sincere, deep tenderness and wisdom. "But here, with you, in this little house at the edge of the world, I am finally living and breathing to the full. You didn't just pull my body out of the palace. You healed my mutilated soul."

She leaned forward, and your lips met in a light, surprisingly sweet kiss. There was no bitterness of despair in it, no aftertaste of tears, or animal fear of being caught and executed. There was only unwavering peace, confidence in the future, and absolute, quiet happiness.

TWO WEEKS LATER.

APRIL WAS LYING ON THE HOSPITAL BED. SHE WOKE UP AN HOUR AGO AND WAS ALREADY BEING questioned by the police. She was connected to tubes and one machine. Bonnie told her doctors about her alcohol problem, so they didn't give her anything for the pain. "Who shot you?"

"I don't know," April mumbled; her voice was hoarse. She was too weak to raise her voice right now.

"You don't know?" April shook her head weakly. "You don't know the person who shot you?" April shook her head again. The police officer scoffed. "How could you not know?"

"Hey, what about you do this later?" Frank walked in. "She just woke up."

"We are just asking some basic questions."

"Not anymore." They had a little stare-off before the police officers left the room. Frank sat down on the chair. "How you holding up, red?"

"I've been better," she mumbled. "What about Annalise?"

"She was discharged this morning."

April nodded slightly. "And the others?"

"They'll be fine."

April sighed. "How long do I have to be here?"

"At least another day, considering you just woke up."

"I can't stay here. I don't like hospitals."

"Well, that's too bad, red. Because you have to."

"I have things to do."

"Like what?" Frank raised a brow at her.

"... stuff. Like, cancel my flight."

"I'll do it. You just lay here, relax and get better."

April sighed. "Fine."

"I mean it," Frank pointed at her like a disapproving father.

April nodded. "I know, and I will."

"Good."

////

APRIL WALKED INTO THE PRECINCT COVERED IN BLOOD— SHE WAS SHAKING AND CRYING. All eyes turned to her. "H-h-h-h-h-he's d-d-dead," she stuttered.

"Ma'am," a woman approached her. "Deep breathes. Who is dead?"

"M-m-m-my- m-my husband," she cries. "I-I-I killed him." She started sobbing. "I killed him."

April woke up, and she couldn't breathe, which was what must have woken her up. Her pillow was smothered against her face, stopping her air supply. She tried to fight back as she gasped for air, ignoring the pain in her neck and chest. The person had a strong hold on her, and April was getting weaker by the second. Her body grew weaker and weaker until she was unconscious again.

////

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?" FRANK ASKED when he entered the hospital and saw Anthony talking to a doctor.

Anthony turned to Frank. "I'm doing my job."

"You can ask questions when she isn't lying in a hospital bed."

"We're trying to find whoever is responsible."

Frank hummed. "Even if she talks now, it'll take you forever to find the guy. So, it wouldn't hurt to wait till she is discharged." He walked away before he could get a response. He reached April's room and was confused when he saw that she wasn't there. "Excuse me?" He called out to a nurse. "Where is Coleman?"

"In her room," the nurse answered. Frank left immediately, without a word.

"We're locking the door now?" Frank asked when Bonnie opened the door.

"Did you bring them?" She ignored his question.

"Yeah." He gave her an orange bottle of pills. "Just promise me you're not gonna use them to kill her."

"Frank..." Bonnie trailed off as she stepped out of the house.

"Like that's a crazy question anymore. At least let me see her."

"She's high on Vicodin and walking around with no pants."

"What about the hearing?" He shook his head before she can answer. "Never mind that. We have a problem."

Bonnie frowned. "What is it?

"I think School President was kidnapped."

"What?!" Bonnie's eyes went wide.

Frank shushed her. "I'm dealing with it. I came to get my laptop. It's in there," he gestured to the house.

"Why do you need your laptop?"

"... April showed me some hacking. There are cameras in the hospital. Can you get it?"

"Isn't hacking illegal?" Bonnie crossed her arms.

"Yeah. And so is murder." Bonnie paused before she went into the house to get the laptop.

Frank entered the police precinct and went up to Anthony, who looked confused to see him. "April was kidnapped."

Anthony looked shocked by his words. "What-"

"Not now," Frank interrupted him. "I know where she is. We don't have time. I need your help."

"Okay," Anthony nodded. "Let's get her."

////

"LOOK WHO'S FINALLY AWAKE" WAS THE FIRST THING APRIL HEARD WHEN SHE WOKE UP. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the light, and when they did, she saw Matt's father standing in front of her. April quickly realized that she was tied to a chair.

"Y-you shot me?" She asked, her voice weak. April looked around. "Where are we?"

"Oh, this?" Howard grinned. "This is where I work. It's a meat factory— also known as a slaughterhouse."

"Did you shoot me?"

Howard scoffed. "You're the reason my son's killer is out there. It's your fault. What did you expect me to do?"

"Anything but this."

He scoffed again. "You deserve to die, Coleman. I was furious when I found out you survived. You should be dead."

"Then aim higher this time," she scoffed. "It's not my fault you're a bad shot."

Howard glared at her before taking out a knife. "I'm taking my time," he smirked. "I'm not letting you go off easy. Maybe I'll let you bleed out right here."

"And then what, Howard?" She muttered. "What are you going to do with my body? The hospital was filled with cameras, and I bet one caught your face."

Howard's smirk dropped for a moment before reappearing. "I don't care because at least you'll be dead."

April let out a bitter chuckle. "Just like your son."

His smirk dropped and was replaced with an angry frown. "You bitch!" Howard stepped up to her in an attempt to scare her, but she didn't budge— instead, she maintained eye contact, which frightened him a little bit. He brought his knife to her cheek— on her other cut, which had just healed. When Howard slid the blade across her cheek, April closed her eyes and didn't make a sound no matter much it hurt. "You're strong; I'll give you that."

"You're not gonna get away with this," April mumbled.

"Except I will," Howard smirked. He brought up the knife again, just underneath the first one— making another cut.

Howard shook his head as he stared down at April— his arms folded and a smirk on his face. He had made over ten minor cuts on her face, and she was bloodied— and she was awake, which disappointed him. "Are you tired?"

April weakly shook her head. "Sleepy? No. Tired of your bullshit? Yes."

Howard scoffed before trailing around her— like a wolf hunting its next meal. When he kneeled in front of her, and when he put his hand on her thigh, it triggered all the alarms in her head, and she tried to wiggle out of his touch but was unable to do so considering she was tied up. This caused him to laugh. "I think I know your weakness."

"Get off of me," it took her a lot of strength to raise her voice at him. He continued to rub his hand up and down her thigh. She gulped when he looked right at her.

"I never believed any of that crap about your husband, but maybe I was wrong," he chuckled— almost sounding like a villain in a movie. April looked at him, and a little part of her was scared— and she couldn't help but see Nicholas's face when she looked at Howard. She knew she had to get away from there and do everything she could to achieve that. Her legs weren't tied up, so April lift her leg between his legs, so her foot made contact with his groin.

Howard was surprised by her actions while she was trying to keep up her act— and not give in to the side that wanted to break down and cry. He looked at her and tilted his head to the side. She mimicked him and tilted her head. "I bet you've never screwed a murderer." April gave him a weak smirk.

"You'd be right about that," he responded, maintaining eye contact while her foot was playing with his genitalia.

"How long has it been since you did it with your wife?" She could feel him getting hard under her touch.

"It's been a while," he admitted as he let sex cloud his mind, and he seemed to be forgetting what he was there to do.

"Then take me," she whispered.

Howard didn't hesitate— he unzipped his pants and took them off along with his boxer shorts before untying her. April grabbed his shirt and pulled him towards her— connecting their lips in a messy kiss, which turned into a make-out session.

April was still wearing the hospital gown, so he had easy access. Howard groaned as he pushed his length into her— while she faked a moan to seem into it.

He started to thrust into her slowly as he continued to groan and moan— he obviously hadn't done this in a long time. His eyes were closed. April was looking behind him, not wanting to see his face, and she kept making fake sex noises, which he seemed to believe were real.

Howard started to thrust faster, and his moans got louder. April wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer to her. He rested his forehead on her shoulder.

April faked loud moans as she tried to reach for the knife in his pocket. She gripped into him with her other hand to really sell it.

"Oh god," he groaned. "I'm close." April managed to grab the knife. "I'm gonna-" she lodged the blade into his neck, not letting him finish. She watched as he choked on his own blood, and she let him fall to the ground.

////

FRANK AND ANTHONY ARRIVED AT THE MEAT FACTORY. THEY EXITED THE CAR AND APPROACHED THE BUILDING. "Stay behind me," Anthony told Frank as he takes out his gun.

They slowly entered the building— Frank trailing behind Anthony. It was silent, and they didn't know how long April had been there or if she was alive.

When they entered the main room, the first thing they saw was April lying on the ground and no one else in sight. Frank rushed over to her as Anthony continued to search the building.

Frank checked for a pulse and visibly relaxed when he found it. "April," he tried to shake her away. He lifted her when she didn't open her eyes. And he carried her out of the building bride-style.

"Frank?" April mumbled as she lifted her head from his shoulder. She looked weak and exhausted.

"Can you walk?" April nodded in return. He put her down. "We can't go back to the hospital. I've got clothes for you in the car. And we have to fix that up," he gestured to her face. She nodded again, which confused Frank.

"It's empty," Anthony said as he exited the building. "He can't be too far, though. The car is still here." He opened the trunk before turning to April. "Let me fix you up."

April didn't say anything and leaned against the trunk. Both men were confused by her silence, not knowing what had happened. She couldn't get herself to talk, not after remembering what she did. Every time she opened her mouth, she could feel the tears about to form and the lump in her throat growing.

"What now?"

"His wife will report him missing sooner or later," Anthony replied as he cleaned April's wounds with water— from a water bottle. "Where are you planning on taking her?"

Frank frowned. "Isn't she going with you?"

"How the hell am I going to explain this to my wife?"

"Sugarcoat it," Frank shrugged.

"Take her to your place."

"The kids are there right now, and I don't need them to worry."

"They're already worried."

"Don't you think I know that? They feel guilty, and the puppy won't stop asking about her."

Anthony sighed. "Then what?"

Frank paused to think. "We take her back to her place. It's not sold yet."

"So we take turns watching her?"

Frank shrugged. "Just over the night. I'll convince one of the kids to let her move in with them. Maybe the puppy or Prom Queen."

"Fine," Anthony agreed. He turned to April. "We can stitch your cuts at your place." She nodded before getting in the car— getting in the backseat.

Frank closed the trunk. "You think she killed him?"

"... yeah."

April was curled up on her couch. She was wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, her hair was in a messy bun, and she was wrapped in a blanket. She hadn't said a word since they found her. Anthony was watching her from the kitchen— he was on the phone with Frank. "I'm telling you," he spoke quietly into the phone, "she's not talking. I'm officially concerned."

"Maybe she just needs to be alone."

"You've met April. When she doesn't talk, something is wrong. Have you told anyone about this?"

"I told the kids that she was kidnapped and that's she's fine now. So they know what to expect."

Anthony nodded slightly. "That's good. I don't know what to expect either... I have never seen her like this."

"She'll be fine."

////

APRIL WAS STARTLED AWAKE BY THE SOUND OF SOMEONE BANGING ON HER FRONT DOOR. She groaned as she got off the couch where she slept. Anthony left at some point during the night.

She opened the door, and Bonnie was standing there. "Hey." April went back to the couch, and Bonnie walked in, closing the door. "Frank told me what happened."

"I'm sure," April whispered.

Bonnie slowly sat down, taking in April's appearance. Her hair was a mess, and she looked tired. She had a bandage around her neck where she had been shot. "Frank told me you didn't talk at all."

April nodded slowly. "I... needed time." She looked at Bonnie. "Did he tell you everything?" Bonnie nodded. "And how do you feel about that?"

"He tried to kill you, so as far as I'm concerned, you defended yourself. Annalise doesn't know that you were shot and that you were kidnapped. Are you comfortable telling me what happened in the slaughterhouse?"

"... it was bad, Bonnie. Not just bad, it was horrifying. What I did was horrifying. I'm sorry, but I can't tell you. I can't tell anyone."

Bonnie nodded. "I understand. Look, April, I know someone you could talk to. It's not good to keep it all bottled up."

"Therapy isn't my thing."

"I would definitely give it a try. This time actually think about it." April looked at her, confused. "I'm not an idiot, April."

"I just don't see how talking would work."

"Because you get it off your chest, and it'll make you feel a little better."

"I don't know," April mumbled.

"I know that we're not very close, but I'm here if you need anything. Get some more rest- I have some things to do but feel free to call me if you need anything. Alright?"

"Yeah." April nodded. "Thanks."

Bonnie took out her phone as she exited April's building. She dialed a number and held the cellphone against her ear. "It's worse than I thought."

////

APRIL HAD GOTTEN DRESSED AND WAS BRUSHING HER hair in front of the mirror. She had decided to go out to clear her head. When she heard the front door close, she almost dropped the hairbrush. April quickly grabbed her phone and texted Anthony, telling him that someone was in her apartment.

She slowly made her way to the living room, trying not to make any sound. When she reached the living room, she saw her mother. "What are you doing here?"

Karen turned to her with an angry expression. "You did this."

"What-"

"You killed Henry."

"I don't have time for this. You need to leave."

Karen glared at her daughter. "I loved him." She stepped closer to April. "I finally found the guy, and you had to ruin it."

"You need to leave."

Anthony walked in before Karen could say or do anything else. "I'm gonna ask you to leave, Karen." After some hesitation, Karen walked out. "Are you okay?" He closes the door.

April scoffed. "I'm fine." Anthony didn't look convinced. "I'm fine. You need to stop worrying."

"Stop worrying? Yesterday you didn't say a word. I still don't know what happened."

"Well, you don't have to know everything," April snapped at him. "I don't want to talk about what happened because it's too damn hard. Besides, I don't owe you an explanation, so..." she shrugged before sighing. "I can't talk about it. And I'm telling you that I'm fine, why can't that be enough?"

"... I care about you, April. So, obviously, I'm going to worry. It's just how it is. But you're right- you don't have to talk about if you don't want to, but you can."

April nodded as she makes her way to the couch. "Bad things keep happening... it's definitely karma."

Anthony chuckled lightly. "Probably."

"I just wanted a normal life, you know? Like you got."

Anthony sat down. "I get it. And it's not easy. It takes time."

"How much time? Because there are people out there who want me dead. My mom included."

"We will work this out, April."

"I know," she mumbled. "The sooner, the better, though."

"Yeah, I know."

Asher frowned at Frank, "soda? Don't you have something stronger?"

"I do, but April is coming." The others looked shocked by the news— none of them visited April at the hospital because they felt too guilty. "And she doesn't drink. It's either this or water, doucheface."

Asher looked disappointed. "Still going with that nickname?"

"Shouldn't she be resting, though?" Michaela asked, ignoring Asher's comment. "She was shot in two places. She's lucky to be alive."

"Look, she's on her feet, and Bonnie thought it would be a good idea to get her out of the apartment. Just don't ask her too many questions and don't stare at her face for too long."

Michaela frowned. "The scars," Laurel reminded her.

Bonnie entered along with April. "Sorry we're late."

"Take your seats," Frank told them. April sat next to Bonnie.

"Hey," Asher greeted April. "You okay?"

"... no, but... I'll be fine." She gave him a small smile, which he returned.

"A toast," Frank raised his glass. The others raised their drinks too. "We won for today," he glanced at April for a brief moment, "all of us. Salute."

"I HAVE TO ADMIT," KAREN SPOKE UP. "THIS HAS TO BE ONE of the best ideas you've had, April." She smiled.

April forced a smile. "I just thought it would be a good idea to move on. The past is in the past."

"You're right. And I'm glad you let me invite Henry. He was so happy when he heard you had invited him. And he hopes you will forgive him."

"All is forgiven," April lied. "As I said, the past is in the past."

Henry entered the kitchen. "Hey," he kissed Karen as April tried to stay calm.

"Hey, honey. April is here."

Henry waved at her awkwardly. "Hey."

"Hi," April greeted him back. She hated him— especially after what he did to Sheri. "So glad you could make it."

"Me too." Henry smiled. "I'm glad you've forgiven me, April- as I had a long time ago."

April hummed— resisting the urge to punch him. "Well, it was about time." She forced a smile.

"April came up with this idea. We're cooking, so how about you set the table, darling?"

Henry nodded. "Yeah. Sure. And I've got wine." He pointed at Karen, "your favorite."

"Aww," Karen gushed. "I love you."

"And I love you." He pulled her into a passionate kiss, and April tried not to gag. This was all too much, and she was regretting it already.

"Your mother suggested that we could move back to Virginia," Henry stated— smiling at Karen.

April looked at her mother, confused. "Why is that?"

"You're going back, and I still want us to be close," Karen explained.

April hummed. "Right."

"Are you friends with someone named Asher Millstone?" Henry asked April, breaking off her little stare-off with Karen

"He's my classmate," April replied. "Why?"

"It's all over the news. His father died."

April looked at Henry in surprise. "Judge Millstone is dead?"

Henry nodded. "Hanged himself."

April took out her phone and turned it on. She had many missed calls from Annalise especially. "Are you okay, honey?" Karen asked.

"Yeah," April nodded. "I'm fine."

She sent a text to Asher, short and straightforward: "Condolences.”

April looked up from her phone. "You should try my special sauce. It's got a secret ingredient."

"I'd love some."

////

"I KNOW WHAT YOU DID!!" WAS WHAT THE TEXT FROM HER MOTHER SAID— in all caps. April looked it over, but she didn't reply. Instead, she put the phone in her pocket and walked into the mansion.

Michaela kept sending her 911 texts, so April gave in and decided to see what was happening. She entered the living room, and she spotted Wes, Laurel, Connor, and Michaela sitting there. They looked freaked out, and there was a gun on the table.

"Usually when people hang out, they go out for dinner or a movie," this gained their attention, "while this is what we do." April sat down next to Laurel.

"Have you spoken to Asher?" Michaela asked.

April shook her head. "I texted him, but he didn't reply."

"Where have you been?"

"Is this why you sent me so many texts? To see where I have been? Please, just tell me what the hell is going on."

Before Michaela could respond, they heard a voice from someplace in the mansion- "I'm losing my grip." There was a thud.

"Asher?" Laurel spoke up, confused. Why would Asher be there? They got up and exited the living room- they were met with Annalise, Asher, and Bonnie standing over something that looked like a dead body

April shook her head immediately. "Hell no. I'm not doing this." She turned to leave.

"April!" Annalise called out to her— making her stop in her tracks. "Don't leave."

"Why not?"

"Who is that?" Michaela asked.

"Everyone, relax," Annalise told them. They started arguing. "That's Emily Sinclair."

"Someone killed her?

"It doesn't matter," Bonnie replied.

"I ran over her," Asher mumbled.

Bonnie turned to Asher. "It was an accident."

"And we're gonna make it look like even a bigger accident." The students started arguing immediately. "Just do what I say and ask questions later!" Annalise snapped at them.

"No," April broke the silence. She scoffed. "I'm not doing this again."

"I'm with April," Connor said. They turned to leave.

"They killed Sam, Asher." They stopped in their tracks and turned to their professor. They had shocked expressions on their faces— not believing that she would rat them out to Asher. "It wasn't Bonnie. She just said that to protect them. But Sam attacked Rebecca, and they killed Sam. And I've been covering for them the whole time. And now they're going to help cover for you."

"Why are you doing this to us?" Michaela asked, freaked out.

"Because all of this- everything that's happened- Sinclair coming after me, using Asher, now this... it all started with what the five of you did! Now, let's get to work!"

"I called Emily Sinclair here to show her the gun and this photo," Annalise laid the picture down on the table. "And that's when Catherine came home unexpected and killed Sinclair."

"There is no way that anyone believes that," Connor broke the silence.

"And we don't even know that Catherine's guilty," Michaela added.

"Well, you knew Nate was innocent, but you were still okay with me framing him. We found a gun in her room, a photo connecting her to Philip. Her own brother even believes that she did it. You may not believe it, but I do, and I'm the expert, so you do what I say."

"Catherine's not here, though," Laurel said.

"That's being taken care of."

"Taken care of how?" Michaela asked. "You mean kill her?"

"I didn't say that."

"So Catherine ran over Sinclair here. That's our story."

"Our story doesn't matter."

"Of course it does," April told her professor. "Otherwise, none of this makes sense."

"We don't need it to make sense. We just need it to look like chaos, to leave the police a crime scene that's a mess. It's their job to make sense out of it, not ours."

"Great," Connor said sarcastically. "Let's make ourselves more culpable by touching the body."

"Shut up and lift." They did as Bonnie said— April, Connor, Michaela, and Asher helped Bonnie carry the body upstairs to the balcony.

"Stop." They laid the body on the ground carefully. Michaela fell back in exhaustion, and Bonnie uncovered the body, making Connor groan in disgust. "Okay. Take her arms."

"No way," Connor mumbled. April held her hand out to Michaela, who grabbed it, and she helped her up. "I'm out."

"Connor."

"Look, you're just as sick as her," Connor told Bonnie. "That's clear now, but I'm not doing this." He left.

"We're leaving too," April said. She dragged Michaela along with her, who was still freaked.

"You guys have done this before."

"Exactly!" She snapped at her. "We're not doing it again." April left along with Michaela.

April, Michaela, and Connor were leaving the mansion. "Stop!" Wes called out.

Michaela was the first to turn. "Michaela, no." That was when Sinclair's body dropped in front of her, making a horrifying sound when it hit the ground. Michaela let out a scream and covered her mouth in terror. April looked up, and Bonnie was standing on the balcony with Asher.

Michaela was wiping the table to get rid of their fingerprints. "You don't have to do that," Laurel stated.

"I want to."

"We're here all the time," April said. "Our fingerprints should be on everything."

"It doesn't matter anyway. This won't work."

"You're right," Annalise walked in with the gun in her hand. "It won't work... unless we do something to make them believe it." When she walked up to them, they stepped back.

"What are you doing?" Michaela asked when Annalise grabbed her phone.

"Who are you calling?" Connor asked.

April glanced at the firearm. "Why are you holding the gun?"

Annalise brought the phone to her ear. "Help. I've been shot. This is Annalise Keating," she fake cried to make it sound believable. "And my client, Catherine Hapstall- she shot me. I'm here at her house. The A.D.A.'s here too. Please, hurry." She hung up and put the phone down. "Now it'll work." Annalise walked right up to April and held the gun out. "Shoot me."

Her eyes went wide in shock. "What?"

"Shoot me," Annalise repeated.

"No."

Annalise grabbed her hand and placed the gun in it, giving her no choice. "Remember what I did, April. I defended Sheri's killer."

"I'm not gonna shoot you."

"Shoot me in the leg, April. It'll be fine. Do it for Sheri." April shook her head, and her hand was shaking. When she dropped her hand, Annalise raised it again— the gun was pointed at her chest.

"I-I can't..."

"April-"

"-don't shoot!" Nicholas yelled. He tried to look strong with the gun aimed at him, but fear was evident in his eyes. "April, don't shoot! Don't shoot!"

April looked at him through her tears eyes. Her hands, which were holding the gun, were shaking. "I'm sorry," she cried before pulling the trigger.

"April! Do it for your dad," Annalise taunted her.

April shook her head. "I was wrong. You know nothing at all. My dad wouldn't want me to do this." She dropped the gun. "I'm out." She rushed out of the room before anyone could stop her.

April walked out of the mansion and to the balcony. Her body was shaking— she paced back and forth to calm down, but it didn't seem to be working.

NINE DAYS HAD PASSED since Amy called Hank that night, telling him she was ready to return to Intelligence.

The decision had settled in quietly after that—along with something else she couldn't quite define.

It started in the kitchen with Jay. A moment she didn't revisit for long. She couldn't put her finger on what had changed, only that something had. And as the days went on, she pushed the thought aside when it surfaced.

Amy was returning to Intelligence. That was where her focus stayed.

Jay gave her a ride that morning, saying it was because it was her first day back. He asked about her aunt as they made their way toward the district.

"I tracked her down," she said as they walked inside. "New York."

His brows drew together. "Like she didn't even try to run."

A faint reaction crossed Amy's face— there and gone quickly. "Hopefully they'll arrest her soon." She slowed slightly, reaching into her jacket to adjust the elastic bandage on her shoulder, a flicker of irritation crossing her expression as she did.

Jay stopped in his tracks, waiting for her. "How long do you have to keep them on?"

"The doctor wasn't sure," she said, straightening her jacket again. "I had an old injury that didn't heal properly. It's hard to tell."

They started heading toward the stairwell, when Trudy's voice called out to them, stopping them in their tracks, "Detectives!"

The two shared a quick look, before approaching the Sergeant's desk. "Got word from headquarters," Trudy said, glancing between them. "You're both up for mandatory firearm re-qualification. Get to the shooting range by Friday."

The Sergeant turned to the documents on her desk, flipping through them.

"And welcome back to you, Medusa," she said to Amy, not meeting her gaze, which fit the nickname well. "I'm sure Burgess marked her calendar with a small heart."

Amy gave a slight nod, a quiet hum of acknowledgment, but didn't respond. Jay suppressed a smile as he followed her toward the stairwell.

"Friday is gonna be a piece of cake," he said.

She unlocked the gate and pushed it open. "For me. I'm a better shot than you."

Jay shot her a look as they stepped through, but didn't argue. Because he knew it was true.

Nadia was sitting at her desk by the entrance when the Detectives walked into the bullpen. She stood immediately when she saw Amy.

"Good morning."

Amy and Jay both paused near the entrance, taking in the bullpen— Hank still in his office with a small group, something already in motion.

"Morning," Jay said, breaking off toward his desk. Amy remained by the entrance a moment longer.

Nadia reached for a cup from her desk and stepped forward. "I got you a coffee." A small, hopeful smile flickered across her face as she offered it.

Amy looked at her, then at the cup. Nadia was still smiling— expectant, like this was normal. Like Amy had always been someone she could just do that for.

That was what made the Detective hesitate for a fraction of a second. "...Thanks," she said anyway, taking it. Her eyes moved toward Hank's office as she crossed to her desk.

Erin glanced up from her own desk, catching the exchange.

Nadia was still smiling faintly, watching Amy for a second longer than necessary before turning back toward her workspace.

Erin's mouth twitched— something close to amusement— but she didn't say anything.

"What's going on?" Jay asked.

Erin leaned back slightly. "Commander Fischer came in with Alderman Becks and his wife," she explained. "Shut the door behind them."

Antonio walked out of the break room with a coffee in his hand. "Now you have all the information we do."

The two Detectives were glad to see Amy back in Intelligence, despite not showing it. Jay had told them not to make it a big deal, so they didn't.

They soon found out what the small meeting in Hank's office was about— the Alderman's daughter and her friend were missing.

They gathered the little information there was about the teenage girls and met in the bullpen again to go over it.

Antonio put up the photos on the whiteboard, along with the girls' names. "Allison Becks, 16 years old," he started. "Last seen with her friend Hayden Tannenbaum. They were supposed to go back to the Becks' house after a study group. Neither showed. School records do show that both of these girls are in all AP classes and got straight As. Study group's plausible. Maybe they are jammed up. Allison's dad woke up to an email this morning from Uber saying she booked a car in his account last night."

"What the hell's an Uber?" Alvin asked.

"It's like a taxi, but you get a black car."

"So why didn't you say black car?"

Adam stepped in. "It's not just black cars, it's regular cars too. It's an app. You order it on your phone. It's got all your credit card information." He noticed that Alvin didn't understand. "Okay. I'm gonna call the company, see if I can get in touch with the driver." Adam left to make the call.

"Good," Hank said. He turned to Amy, who was sitting at her desk. "And you call State's Attorney Kot. I want a warrant for both girls' cell phones and computers."

She was already reaching for the phone. "You got it, Sergeant."

Hank turned to Jay's desk. "Hey, they got GPS on these cars?"

"Yeah. All of 'em."

"All right, I want...," Hank trailed off, not knowing the technical terms.

"Yep, I got it."

"Yeah, all that stuff. Thank you."

"Hey, Sarge," Adam walked back in before Hank could go to his office. "We got a problem with the Uber driver."

Hank moved immediately, signaling for Alvin and Antonio to follow as he headed out to check it.

Amy stayed back just long enough to finish with the warrant request, her focus already shifting ahead. If something had happened to the girls, it wasn't random.

She stood. "We should talk to Hayden's parents," she said. Jay didn't question it. He gave her a nod before following her toward the entrance.

"You're bossy, you know that?" He joked as they approached the stairs. She gave him a push, a small smile tugging at her lips.

The Detectives went to Hayden's house and sat across from her parents— Gordon and Liza.

"Did Hayden call last night?" Jay asked. "Email?"

"No," Gordon said, shaking his head. "Not after she left the house."

Amy glanced between them. "Can either of you think of anyone who might want to hurt your daughter?"

Gordon frowned, clearly thrown by the question. "No. No, not at all. We don't understand how this can be happening."

Amy's gaze shifted to Liza, who had been quiet the entire time. "Liza?"

She didn't answer. Just shook her head. Amy glanced at Jay. They needed to separate them.

"Hey, Gordon, why don't we step outside for a minute?" Jay said, already standing.

Gordon followed him out, leaving Amy alone with Liza.

Liza sniffled. "This is my fault," she said quietly. "I told her she could go. It was just a sleepover.”

Amy's expression stayed steady. "This isn't your fault. Okay?"

Liza nodded, tears slipping free.

They sat in silence for a moment while she pulled herself together, wiping her face.

"Does Hayden have a boyfriend?" Amy asked. "Maybe she didn't want her dad to know."

Liza let out a small, shaky laugh. "She's always been a pretty girl. Teenage girls... there's a new crush every few weeks. I stopped trying to keep up."

Amy nodded once. "We've got good people working this," she said, standing as Jay and Gordon came back in. "If you think of anything— anything at all— call us."

Liza nodded. "Okay."

"Of course. Thank you. Thank you all so much," Gordon said, shaking Jay's hand before they left.

Outside, Amy was quiet for a moment, her mind already working through it. Then she glanced at Jay. "He's hiding something."

"You think he's lying?"

"There's something."

////

ADAM FINALLY GOT A READ— he pinged one of the phones and got a location. They were hopeful that this would lead them to the girls.

They rushed to the address.

Amy got out of the car along with Jay. "Signal's weak, but it's around here somewhere," Adam spoke into the radio.

Then Hank did. "All right. Spread out. We go through doors if we have to." The unit did as they were ordered, to cover more ground.

They scanned the neighborhood for anything suspicious.

Then suddenly a crashing sound demanded their attention, alerting them. They quickly drew their weapons and turned to the source.

Rushing to the house, they spotted a young girl on the grass, clearly injured. A man was standing by the window, and he started shooting at them.

"Stay down!" Hank shouted at the girl, as they took cover. They shot back at the man.

Amy was kneeling behind a car— her gun in her hand. She looked ahead, where Erin was in a similar position. "I got you, go!"

Erin made a run for it. She ran to the girl, and Amy shot at the man, covering Erin.

"I'm the police. It's okay!" Erin told the girl. She had wrapped her arms around the frightened girl and was attempting to comfort her somewhat and reassure her. "But you gotta move!"

Erin helped the girl from the ground as the others kept shooting. The girl was yelling out in pain as Erin pulled her away. Amy followed them to the side, where they would be out of sight of the man who was shooting at them.

"Breach!" Hank yelled. "Go, go, go!" Adam and Kevin rushed to the door, followed by Antonio, who cleared it.

"All right, you're clear!" The Detectives ran into the building.

"Halstead! Hughes! Around the back!" Hank ordered.

The two Detectives shared a quick nod before they split—Amy went left, Jay went right, moving quickly to cover the rear perimeter.

Amy kept along the fence line, scanning as she moved. Her grip stayed firm on her weapon, though her shoulder gave a dull reminder with each controlled step— nothing that slowed her down.

Jay mirrored her movement on the opposite side. No need to talk. They'd done this before.

Inside the building, the sweep moved quickly. Within moments, the team cleared the interior and pushed toward the rear exit.

Above them, Kevin and Adam emerged at a higher position along the structure, stepping onto the fire escape where they had a clearer view of the yard and fence line below.

"Hey, other side of the fence!" Adam called out to the Detectives.

Amy and Jay both turned instantly, reacting on instinct rather than thought.

Through the gaps in the fence line, they saw a man standing by a car. The trunk was open for a split second— then slammed shut. There was movement inside before it closed.

No hesitation followed.

Both Detectives broke into a run at the same time, cutting straight toward the narrow gate just a few feet away.

"Police! Stop!" Jay shouted, his voice carrying across the yard.

The man didn't even slow.

Amy reached the gate first. She grabbed it low, yanking hard against the rusted frame and chain tension at the top. Metal resisted, holding for a fraction too long before beginning to give.

Jay moved immediately as it loosened, slipping through the opening without waiting.

Behind him, the car door slammed shut.

Amy released the gate as soon as he was through, stepping back to clear space.

Jay sprinted forward the moment his feet hit the other side, weapon drawn, shouting again—

But the engine was already roaring. The car surged forward, tires biting into the street as it pulled away before he could get close enough to stop it.

Although, the offender got away, Hayden was safe and hopefully help them find her friend. Most of the unit headed down to the hospital, so they could talk to her about what had happened with her and Allison.

Amy didn't see the point of all of them going, so she went to the district, where she could look into Gordon. First, she went to the locker room. Her shoulder was bothering her and she felt the need to change her bandages.

Standing in front of her locker, Amy slipped off her jacket before she reached up to her shoulder and ripped off the bandages.

The adhesive gave way with a quiet pull. She peeled the wrap off in one motion, rolling her shoulder slightly as soon as it was free. The movement was controlled, measured— testing range more than comfort.

A dull ache settled in immediately, nothing sharp, just familiar. She rotated her arm once, then twice, checking how the joint held under its own weight.

Satisfied it wasn't anything new, she reached into her bag and pulled out a small tube of anti-inflammatory gel. She squeezed a thin line onto her fingers and rubbed it into the side of her shoulder, working it carefully into the joint where the ache sat the most. Her expression didn't change— focused, routine, like it was just another step in getting ready for work.

She let it sit for a second, flexing her fingers absently as she waited for the slight cooling sensation to settle in.

Then she reached for a fresh elastic bandage.

Amy started the wrap low on her upper arm, pulling it snug as she worked upward. Around the shoulder, she tightened it just enough to give support without locking her movement. The fabric crossed close to her collarbone and up toward the side of her neck, reinforcing the joint the way she'd done countless times before.

She tested it once she finished—lifting her arm, rolling her shoulder slightly.

Better.

Not perfect. Just steady.

Good enough.

She grabbed her jacket again and slipped it back on, already moving on in her head before she even closed the locker.

As she turned, ready to go to the bullpen, Nadia walked in.

The younger woman was holding a book in her arms, close to her chest, a pen in her hand. Her grip tightened when she saw Amy, who immediately noticed.

But, she was ready to just move past and get to work. If Gordon knew anything about where Allison could be, then they had to find out.

"It's my journal," Nadia blurted out, stopping Amy in her tracks. "Uhh..." she trailed off, letting out a small chuckle. "It helps... with everything that I've been through."

When Amy interacted with her colleagues, it was about work— about a case, or suspect. Something work related.

Nadia wasn't a cop, so they didn't have much to talk about, so Amy didn't have that many talks with her. And they were always brief and not personal— like almost all of her interactions.

"You don't have to explain," Amy told her, trying to end the conversation that had barely begun. "I'm glad it works for you."

The younger woman responded with a smile, as the Detective moved past her.

As Amy moved across the bullpen, her phone rang. She grabbed it as she reached her desk and looked at the screen— Jay.

"What's up?" She answered the phone.

"Just wanted to let you know that Hayden didn't see the offenders," Jay responded. "Their faces were covered the entire time. We're heading back now."

"All right, see you in a bit." After the brief phone conversation, Amy logged into her computer.

She didn't get further than that before her phone started ringing again. "Hughes," Amy answered.

"This is Dr. Patel with the Medical Examiner's office," a calm voice said. "We've got a positive identification on your decedent from the scene."

Amy reached out and grabbed a pen and her notepad, ready to write down the name. "Go ahead."

"His name is Jason Woodley."

She scribbled down the name. "Alright, got it. Thanks." Amy hung up, before she looked up his name on her computer. She managed to find some things about Woodley before the unit came back.

Not much, just his criminal record and his mugshot.

Amy put the photo on the whiteboard and wrote his name above it, just as the unit entered the bullpen. "The ME just called," she informed them. "Our shooter is Jason Woodley. He is a career criminal and two months out of prison after a stint for armed robbery."

Jay was already by his desk, leaning back in his chair. "Was," he corrected her, with a teasing smile. She shot him a look, not responding. He knew she wasn't bothered by it.

Erin glanced up for a moment longer than she needed to, then went back to her desk, expression neutral.

Hank nodded along, ignoring their interaction, turning to the unit. "Alright. I want everything we got on this guy. Family members, known associates."

"Hank." They looked over to Trudy, who was standing by the entrance. "You got someone downstairs, says she knows you." She turned and went back downstairs.

Hank left the investigation in Antonio's hands, before he headed towards the stairwell.

Amy turned back to her computer. With the whole unit looking into Woodley, she decided to look up Gordon. There was something about that man— his behavior— that didn't sit well with her.

She started looking into him— starting with his family and associates, moving on to his work and financials. He made a descent amount of money.

Scrolling through his financial records, Amy didn't see anything suspicious, not until she went far enough back.

A large sum caught her eyes— 60k dollars.

That definitely stood out. Not just because of how much money it was, but because he didn't make that much money the other months. Why did he make that this particular month?

Amy kept scrolling and went back a few more months— another red flag went up.

60k dollars were taken out. It wasn't making sense.

A large amount of money just left his bank one random day over 10 years ago and appeared again a few months later.

Her eyes darted away from her computer when she heard muttering. Looking up, she saw Jay and Alvin talking to each other, before both stood up.

Jay noticed her looking in their direction. "We're gonna talk to Woodley's mom," he explained, grabbing his jacket. "Only living relative."

She gave him a short nod. "Alright."

"Keep me updated," Antonio told him from his desk.

Amy turned back to her computer as the two Detectives left. A large amount of money were taken out, then the same amount appeared a few months later, with no explanation.

She leaned back in her chair, her eyes not leaving the screen for a few more seconds. Once she did look away, her eyes fell on Antonio, who was sitting at his desk.

"Antonio, can I run something by you?"

He looked up immediately. "Yeah, sure."

"I've been looking at Gordon's financials."

"Hayden's dad?" He asked, his brows furrowed. "Why?" Erin turned to her too out of curiosity.

Amy turned her chair to face Antonio, ignoring the question. "Over ten years ago, 60 thousand dollars just vanished from his account with no explanation. A few months later, the same exact amount returned. Again, with no explanation."

Antonio was quiet for a moment, processing it. "That is unusual."

Erin found it weird too. "So, it was stolen and put back?"

"So, what? Someone robbed Gordon and he stole the money back?"

"He definitely has the money to pay someone to do that," Amy responded with a small shrug. She didn't really mean that as an actual theory, but once the words left her mouth, she couldn't help but start wondering. Did he?

She pauses for a second, returning to her computer.

To test the theory, Amy looked through the arrest record— ten years ago, Chicago, robbery.

Since, she had the specific information, it would be easier, but it still left a lot of people— a lot of suspects. She had to narrow it down.

Their offender is a white male, possibly in his 30s or 40s and he lives in Chicago. That makes the list shorter, but there's still too many people.

Amy adjusted the filters again.

Arrest records. Robbery cases. Chicago jurisdiction. Ten-year window. Incarceration overlap where available.

The list updated on her screen.

Twenty names.

She leaned back slightly in her chair, eyes scanning the results without really reading them yet. It was still too broad to mean anything on its own—but it was manageable now.

Amy pulled her notebook closer and began writing them down, one by one, marking the ones that aligned most closely with timing and repeat offenses. Not assumptions—just patterns that stood out on paper.

Her pen paused once or twice as she studied certain entries longer than others, then kept moving.

Twenty names. Now it was just about finding the one that didn't belong.

Slowly, Amy went through the list, crossing out every name she didn't suspect had done it. She continued as the list got shorter and shorter.

She continued down the list until she got to a specific name— Reid Dryer. There was nothing special about this person at first glance, then she dug deeper.

Reid was arrested ten years ago and was released recently, but what really stuck out was the prison. He had been locked up in the same place as Woodley— that was not a coincidence.

"Hey," Jay walked into the bullpen, trailing behind Alvin. "Woodley's mother just gave us a name."

Amy looked up from her computer. "Reid Dryer?"

His head snapped in her direction, taken aback. "Uh, yeah. How did you know?"

"Gordon." Realization dawned on him. "It's all over some stolen money over ten years ago. Reid served ten years in prison over, I'm assuming, money he stole for Gordon, where he met Woodley, both were recently released."

"Ten years is a long time to plan for revenge."

Antonio stood up. "Alright, so we bring him in." He gestured to Alvin and the two Detectives left.

Amy got up and went into the break room, really needing a cup of coffee. She grabbed a cup and filled it, the machine humming softly.

Jay stepped in a moment later, leaning against the counter. He watched her for a second. "You beat us to it."

She glanced at him, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly. "Looks like it."

He let out a quiet breath, shaking his head. "We just got the name."

"Mm." She took a sip of her coffee. "You should've walked faster."

That got a small huff of a laugh out of him. He studied her for a second longer. "How'd you get there?"

"Gordon's financials. Something was off." Jay nodded, following. "Money disappeared about ten years ago," she continued. "Same amount came back a few months later. No explanation."

"And you went digging."

"Yeah." A small shrug. "Arrest records. Robbery. Same timeframe."

Jay exhaled, impressed despite himself. "And you land on Reid Dryer."

Amy looked at him again, that same faint hint of a smile still there. "He overlaps with Woodley."

A beat.

Jay pushed off the counter slightly, arms folding. "That's good work."

She didn't deflect it this time. Just took another sip of her coffee. "Don't sound so surprised," she said lightly.

Jay smirked a little at that, following her out of the break room. "I'm not." They split, going to their desks.

Nadia looked across the bullpen at Amy, watching the Detective as she sipped her coffee and worked on her computer.

She mustered her courage, before getting up and approaching her.

"Detective Hughes?" Nadia said, a little hesitant.

Amy looked up from her screen. "Yeah?"

Nadia shifted slightly, already starting to talk a bit too fast. "I—uh, I was reading through some of the case files from when you were in New York. Just trying to learn, you know, and there was this one case— family member, I think—and you figured it out when no one else did."

Amy stilled for a second, then gave a small nod. "Yeah."

Nadia nodded quickly. "I just— I was wondering how you knew. Like, what made you look at them when no one else did?"

There was a brief pause. Amy leaned back slightly in her chair, studying her for a moment. "Nothing made me look at them," she said. "They just weren't ruled out."

Nadia frowned a little, trying to follow. "But... no one suspected them, right?”

Amy shook her head once. "Doesn't matter." Another small pause. "Everyone's a suspect until they're cleared," she added, matter-of-fact.

Nadia nodded slowly. "And sometimes," Amy continued, "the person closest to it is the one you should be looking at first."

Nadia glanced down briefly, then back up. "So... it's not about catching a lie?"

Amy shook her head again. "Not at first."

A beat.

"You look for what doesn't fit," she said. "What they say, how they react— something's off, even if you can't explain it yet."

Nadia absorbed that, nodding more firmly now. "That's... actually really helpful."

Amy gave a small shrug, already turning slightly back toward her computer. "It's just the job."

Nadia hesitated for half a second longer, then nodded. "Right."

Before she could step away, Antonio's voice cut through the bullpen. "We've got Gordon. He's in the interrogation room."

He walked out to the hallway, to go question Gordon, just as Hank stepped in from the stairwell. He had been talking to his visitor, whose identity they didn't know. Not yet.

"Did I hear that right?" Hank asked, looking at the remaining unit. "Gordon is in the interrogation room?"

Erin nodded. "Yeah. Hughes found out he knew more than he was letting on. He's connected to both our suspects."

"Antonio is with him right now," Amy added.

The Sergeant nodded. "Alright." He then turned to Erin. "A word."

She followed him into his office and closed the door. "What's up?" Erin watched as he sat down by his desk, letting out a sigh. This was serious.

"Olive Morgan came to see me," he said. "An old girlfriend of Justin's." Slowly, Erin took a seat. "She's pregnant."

"Justin's?" When Hank nodded, confirming it, her eyes widened. "Does he know?"

"No, not yet." He was still processing the conversation and everything Oliver told him. "Her parents talked her out of having an abortion and she doesn't want to be a mom."

"Then why tell you?"

"She thought Justin would want to be a dad."

"Wow," Erin muttered. He nodded, still not entirely sure how he felt about the situation. A knock cut through the silence.

The door opened. "We got a lead," Antonio told them, going back into the bullpen.

Hank and Erin got up and followed him. "Gordon gave Reid Beck's phone," Antonio said. "We are tracking it down."

"Got something!" Adam called out from his desk, already pushing up from his chair. "Location just came in."

The Sergeant nodded once. "Let's gear up." He laid out the plan quickly as they moved into the garage, grabbing vests and weapons.

Once they drove to the address, Amy approached the building with Antonio and Erin— their weapons drawn.

Slowly, they entered the building, one after another. "That cell phone is in this building," Hank voice spoke into their earpieces. He was sitting in the car with Alvin, outside, positioned a safe distance away. "Halstead, what do you see?"

The Detective was positioned on the roof across the street. His sniper was in place and ready to use if necessary.

Amy moved further into the room, then after a brief moment, heard Jay response. "Nothing yet."

Her flashlight flashed through the room. "Same here. Empty so far," she told the team.

Antonio moved on her left, rifle raised. "Ruzek, how many rooms we looking at?"

"Blueprints are coming in now," Adam answered. He was in a van outside with Kevin. Antonio waited, wanting to be sure of how many rooms there were before continuing.

"We've got something like 15 or 16 rooms," Adam said after a brief moment.

They moved forward, clearing the next section, flashlights cutting through the dark.

"Hold on," Jay's tense voice came through the earpiece. "I got something. Second floor, two people. Big room, the north side of the building."

Amy paused at the stairwell, sweeping it quickly with her light. Clear. "Looks like it could be our kidnapper," Jay added.

"That's the science lab," Adam informed them, after looking at the blueprint.

After gesturing to Antonio and Erin, Amy started moving up the stairs. The flashlights came to use as they reached the top of the stairwell.

The hallway on the second floor was dark. Furniture was scattered, the space partially trashed.

Erin cleared the first room on the left and signaled the others forward. They moved past her.

Two more rooms— clear. Adam's voice came through the radio. "Guys, at the end of the hall, turn left."

They advanced methodically, clearing each space as they went. "Approaching the science lab now," Erin stated.

Antonio took point at the door, signaling a pause. The room beyond was lit. Male voices could be heard, but not clearly.

The Detectives shared a nod— it was time to breach. Amy opened the door, and Antonio went in and then Erin. She was quick to follow them and noticed the gun immediately.

"Chicago Police!" Amy yelled out, announcing their presence.

Antonio stepped forward. "Get down on the ground! Let me see your hands!"

Reid turned to Becks angrily. "I said no cops!" He yelled before he pointed his gun at Becks and pulled the trigger, the bullet hitting his shoulder.

Becks fell on the floor and dropped his suitcase in the process. "Drop it!" Erin yelled at Reid. "Where is she?"

Reid swung the gun toward Antonio. "Shoot me and you'll never find her!" His aim shifted to Erin. "You need me!"

"Where is she!?" Erin repeated.

"Not until I walk out of here," Reid snapped, voice shaking as he kept the weapon moving between them.

Amy stayed still, eyes locked on him. "She's here, right?" she said calmly.

Reid glanced at her. "You brought her here," Amy continued. "She's in this building."

He stared back at her— which she viewed as hesitation. He was about to lie to her and she knew it. "She's not here."

"She's here," she corrected, firmer now. "Which means we don't need you." She raised her weapon slightly, stepping in just enough to close the distance, making it clear she had it aimed at his head. "I can pull this trigger and end it right now."

Silence snapped tight.

They stared at each other for a tense moment, before he finally realized there was no getting out of there. "Okay, okay!" Slowly he lowered his weapon, dropping it to the floor.

Erin moved forward and handcuffed Reid. The other Detectives didn't lower their weapons until he was secured.

Then Alvin's voice cut through the earpiece. "We got her," he said. "We got Allison." The tension was quickly replaced by relief.

////

AMY STOOD IN THE LOCKER ROOM, looking into her almost empty locker. Now that she was back permanently, she needed more things. As of it being her first day back, it hadn't been bad.

Behind her, the door opened and Nadia stepped in. "Detective," she greeted her, a little less hesitant than before.

Amy glanced over her shoulder. "Hey." She turned to her locker again, organizing the few things she did have.

"I don't think I thanked you for getting me the job," Nadia said, taking careful steps closer.

The Detective closed the locker and turned to face the younger woman. "You did."

Nadia hesitated, then smiled a little. "Maybe it doesn't feel like it's enough." There was no doubt in her tone— just genuine gratitude.

Amy studied her for a moment. "You don't have to try so hard," she said simply. Nadia blinked, caught off guard.

She continued, matter-of-fact. "You earned your spot here. I didn't earn it for you."

That landed harder than Amy seemed to intend.

Nadia's expression shifted— surprised, but also quietly reassured. Like she hadn't expected to be seen that clearly.

She didn't think Amy paid attention to her. She certainly didn't think the Detective noticed the work she put in. But clearly, she did.

"Thanks," Nadia muttered, more to herself than anything, before turning and leaving the locker room.

The door opened again and this time Jay walked in. "Hey," he greeted her as he crossed over to his locker.

"Hey." She leaned against the lockers with her arms crossed, as Jay opened his.

"You're still in one piece," he stated, grabbing his bag and putting the strap on his shoulder.

Amy gave him a quick look. Just a little longer than she used to. Not because she was searching for anything—just because her attention didn't move off him quite as quickly as it normally would. "So are you."

"Give it time," he replied, like it was a genuine warning.

That got a small, almost automatic reaction out of her— a faint exhale that was close to a laugh, but not quite. Jay noticed it anyway.

He closed his locker and leaned against it, but not before inching slightly closer. "What are you doing tonight? And don't tell me you're staying here late to do paperwork."

There was slight humor in his tone.

Amy turned to him, shrugging slightly as a small smile pulled on her lips. "I'm going home."

Jay pushed away from the lockers. "Nope. We are going to Molly's."

Her eyes followed him. "We are?"

He hummed. "This was your first day back. I'm getting you a drink."

She stared back at him, trying to determine if he was being serious. Once she knew he was, Amy nodded. "Alright."

His smile widened slightly. "Alright."

SIRENS COULD BE HEARD in the distance, which meant the ambulance was close. Jay handed Amy another towel, upon seeing the first was soaked in blood.

She pressed the second towel over the first, keeping steady pressure on the wound. After a moment, she shifted her hand slightly, testing the angle— then pressed down harder when the bleeding slowed.

Jay kept reassuring the injured woman that she was going to fine and told her to hold on. His eyes were wide in panic.

Soon enough, two paramedics rushed over, one of them carrying a backboard.

"We got it from here," the female paramedic told Amy and took over, applying pressure like she had just done.

Jay and Erin helped get Maddie on the backboard, before they carried her into the ambulance, watching as they rushed her to the hospital.

Amy turned to Jay, seeing the clear panic in his eyes. He was shaken by what just happened and she knew he was already blaming himself. "We're gonna get him," she told him.

They soon went to the district and she went with them. She entered the locker room that she was very familiar with and washed her hands in the sink. The blood was almost dry, so it was difficult to wash it off, but she got most of it.

She then had a talk with Hank, explaining what had happened, insisting on being part of the investigation. "I'd like to see this one through, Sergeant."

Hank had nodded. "Alright." He had been hoping that she would return to Intelligence, which was part of the reason he hadn't filled her spot yet.

By the next morning, the Intelligence unit were up to speed on the situation.

Amy pulled Jay into the locker room, wanting to talk to him. Hank thought he'd take it better if it came from her and she didn't mind.

She sat on the bench, between the lockers. "Voight wants you here," she told him. "At the district."

A scoff left his mouth. At this point, the panic was replaced by anger. "I'm not gonna sit on my ass when the shooter is still out there!"

"If you go out there, you'll be joining Maddie," she spoke, calmly. Her words made him freeze. He turned to face her again. "And none of us want that. Do you?"

He let out a sigh, shaking his head. "No," he muttered.

"If the target was on my back, what would you tell me to do?" That got him.

Jay approached, slowly sitting down next to her. "I'd tell you to stay here, where it's safe."

Amy nodded, her gaze steady. "Exactly. And that's what I want for you, Jay. You're not going anywhere out there until we catch this guy."

He ran a hand over his face, swallowing the tension. "The bullet was meant for me." He shook his head. "It's my fault."

"No, it isn't. The shooter is the only one at fault here and he's not going to get away with it."

Jay exhaled slowly, the tight coil in his chest loosening just a little. "Alright."

Amy gave a small, determined nod. "Good. Then let's get to work." She stood. "Let's go." She held out her hand, offering it to him.

He looked up, meeting her gaze. A small smile tugged at his lips— quiet, almost shy, but full of relief. Jay took her hand, letting her pull him up. He didn't let go, until they left the locker room, finding a measure of calm in the simple connection between them.

When they entered the bullpen, Hank was there, along with Erin and Antonio.

"So you knew the victim?" The Sergeant asked Jay.

"Maddie Callahan. She worked there," Jay responded, as he went to his desk. Amy went and stood by him.

"No I.D. on the shooter?"

Erin shook her head. "No, patrol's going door to door in the neighborhood looking for witnesses."

Antonio got off the phone, before approaching Jay's desk, giving the Detective a, somewhat, stern look. "That was the hospital. Your friend's in ICU, but she's alive."

Jay nodded slightly. "Thanks."

"Hey, it's not your fault."

Antonio meant it and Jay could tell.

"Someone needs to talk to Bembenek," Antonio told Hank, as Jay sat down.

"Oh, Olinsky's already on that."

Kevin and Adam walked in, both with news on the case. "A black Arcadia was found abandoned in Englewood. It matches the description of the getaway vehicle, but there's no prints. They torched it."

"White male just checked into a South Side clinic about a half hour ago, two bullet wounds."

Hank nodded. He knew that Amy had seen the shooter and decided to send her. "Hughes and Lindsay, get on it."

Amy gave a small nod, already moving toward the exit, glancing back at Jay. He stayed at his desk, watching her, tension still lingering in his shoulders— but there was trust in his eyes.

The two Detectives soon arrived at the clinic.

Inside, a man caught their attention. He had his jacket draped over his shoulder and tried to turn away as soon as he saw them. He was definitely their guy.

They already had his ID. "Not so fast, Donald," Amy called.

He froze and turned toward them. "Do I know you?"

The Detectives flashed their badges, closing the distance. "What did you get treated for?" Amy asked, testing him.

Donald tried to sidestep, but Amy blocked him. Erin yanked the jacket off his shoulder, revealing two bullet wounds in his back.

"I accidentally thumbed the trigger," Donald stammered. Erin held up two fingers to Amy—two wounds. "Pow," she said.

Amy's glare sharpened. "Twice in the back?"

Erin tossed the jacket at Donald and stepped next to Amy.

"He's not the shooter," Amy murmured, then turned back to Donald. "My guess is you were the getaway driver. So, tell us who took shots at Police Officers."

Donald's eyes widened, nodding. "It's true. I just drove. And I sure as hell didn't know a cop was the target."

"You have two options, Donald," she said evenly. "Cooperate, tell us who the shooter is, play the oblivious driver and maybe get minimal time. Or we wait for those bullets to be processed, match them to a police firearm, and charge you with attempted murder."

Fear overtook him. "His name is Karl Forsman," he blurted.

Once they had the name, Erin texted it to Hank.

They started heading back to the district, Amy in the passenger seat. The city passed by in a blur, the hum of the engine filling the quiet.

"I've been thinking about leaving Homicide," Amy blurted out, her eyes fixed on the street.

Erin glanced at her, surprised, a small smile tugging at her lips. "You miss us?"

"It's different there," Amy replied, ignoring the question. "I still haven't really gotten used to it."

Leaning back, Erin let out a sigh. "Well... I know the unit hasn't been the same since you left. I think we'd all like it if you came back."

Amy remained quiet, letting Erin's words hang in the air, the thought settling somewhere deep.

Once they arrived at the district, they entered through the front, walking past Trudy's desk. The Sergeant saw the Detectives. "Hughes, hold on."

She stopped at the mention of her name, turning to face the Sergeant. "Yes?" Erin stopped in her tracks too, curious as to what the older woman wanted to say.

"Just wanted to apologize for before." Trudy didn't give it much effort, barely looking from her desk, but Amy didn't want to stand there and talk to her any longer than necessary, so she just accepted it.

Amy gave a small nod, not bothering to respond, before following Erin upstairs. At least she had apologized and they could move on from the incident.

The rest of the unit was already there.

There had been a murder.

A sixteen-year-old girl was shot and killed. Hank had called Erin and informed her when they were driving back, so they knew what to expect when they walked into the room.

Kim and her new partner, Sean, were there too. And she looked a bit too excited when Amy walked in. Although, she tried to suppress it, it didn't go unnoticed by some of the people in the room.

Kevin stood by the whiteboard. He put up the photo of the victim on it, along with her name— Dora Kot. Besides that, a picture of Bembenek, the board was empty.

"Doubling up on squad cars in front of all the homes of the people involved in the Bembenek trial," he said. "There's judges, lawyers, clerks."

Amy moved to her desk, her eyes flicking to Jay. He was clearly pissed— jaw tight, shoulders tense. And still blaming himself, and wanting nothing more than to interrogate their suspect. But he couldn't.

Alvin was standing by his desk. "Bembenek anticipated that. That's why he's going after their family members."

"Two taps to the head without an eye witness. That was a professional hit," Antonio stated.

Amy nodded slightly, agreed with the conclusion. "And we have no idea how many people are on this list?"

"No," Hank replied. That seemed to make Jay even more angry. They had no idea how many people were targeted.

"Hey, everyone." They turned when they heard Adam's voice. He stood by Antonio's desk, a blonde woman in uniform was next to him. "This is Sheriff Charlene Radigan. She helped me secure phone recordings Bembenek made on a cook county landline."

"Most of the calls are in Polish. Inmates switch to their native tongues all the time when they try to cover up what they're talking about," Charlene added.

"So we're going to need a translator." Adam turned to Hank, his hands on his hips. "Forsman kid flipped, right? You think he'd... you think he'd do it?"

Hank backed away from Jay's desk. "He'll paint my house if I want him to. He's in here." He was already walking toward the hallway.

Charlene exchanged a few words with Adam before following Hank.

The suspect gave them the initials JP, having heard it on a phone call. Hank and Alvin quickly put together that JP was Joe Price.

While they were still speaking with him, Kevin called in from a crime scene.

Another victim.

The mother of the judge in the Bembenek case had been murdered.

Two people were killed and they hadn't gotten closer to finding the people responsible or finding the list.

Fortunately, Joe was willing to make a deal and cooperate. He was going to call Patrick Shostak and set a meet.

Amy spent a lot of hours tracing phone calls in the first few weeks of working in the Homicide unit and it was going to come in handy. Hank asked her into the interrogation room and set her up with the right equipment to track the call.

She sat by the table, the equipment in front of her.

Joe stood in front of her.

Hank stood, leaning against the wall, and Alvin was sitting close to Amy.

"You're never going to be able to trace a call from him," Price informed them, sounding very sure of himself. "He goes from one drop phone to another. I don't know why you're bothering."

Amy looked up at the older man. "Let us worry about that." Joe looked away, nodding slightly, still skeptical. She held up the phone once it started ringing. "Sergeant."

It was Shostak.

Joe took the phone and answered the call, just as Jay walked in. He stood by, wanting to listen to the conversation. "Hello."

"JP?" A person replied.

"What's up, Shostak? I have something you may want."

"I want a lot of things."

"Halstead."

"My understanding is you turned down this contract." The man on the phone had an accent.

"And I heard they offered you a lot more money than me. I want half."

"Or what?"

"Or I let him go. And you better think quick. The dilaudid I pumped into him's going to wear off soon."

"1/3rd."

Joe paused for a moment. "Okay. I'll take care of it, I'll bring you a photo for proof."

"No, no, no, no, no. Just because I'm talking to you doesn't mean I trust you. I want to see him alive."

Hank shook his head immediately, not wanting to risk the life of one of his members.

Joe didn't see this though, because he was looking at Jay, who had the opposite reaction. He saw the opportunity and nodded, giving Joe a thumbs up.

He had to do this.

"Deal." Hank's face dropped as he turned to face the Detective, knowing exactly what had happened. Amy looked at him too, but she wasn't surprised. She knew Jay.

"Highway between Cermak and Kedzie. 30 minutes."

As soon as the phone call ended, Jay walked out of the interrogation room. His mind was made up and there was no changing it.

The rest of the unit followed him into the bullpen. Amy went to her desk as the rest tried to talk Jay out of going. It was way too risky.

"There's too many risks," Antonio told Jay, once they stood in the bullpen.

Jay went to his desk. "There's always risks."

"Jay, you'd be in the car with a hitman," Erin reminded him, moving to stand in front of him.

"Who's retired, and who we made a deal with."

"Because that changes everything," she remarked.

"We don't know how many people Bembenek wants dead!" He snapped back. Erin gave him a look, silently asking if he had just yelled at her. He went over to the whiteboard, slapping the surface. "Isn't this enough?"

Amy watched him from his desk, observing him as he approached Hank. "Sarge. Sarge, I will sign whatever I have to sign saying I went on my own free will, that I wasn't ordered. That'll release the city from all liability. I don't have any beneficiaries anyway. I signed that form the day I graduated from the academy, right before they pinned a badge on my chest."

A pause lingered in the room as they waited for Hank to respond. The tension felt thick, as the unit realized they couldn't say anything to change Jay's mind.

Then he nodded. "Alright. I want everyone downstairs in five minutes."

Amy followed the unit down to the garage, rotating her shoulder slightly, fighting the soreness and pain, as she thought over what she was going to say to Jay.

She waited until the plan was set, before approaching him, a pair of handcuffs in her hand. "Ratchets on the cuffs have been shaved down. So one tug, they'll come off," Amy explained.

He eyed her as he removed his watch, deciding to keep the bracelet on. "You've been quiet," he stated, holding his hands out, letting her handcuff him.

She let her hands linger on his wrists for a moment, almost like she was assuring herself he was still there and he was fine.

Amy grabbed the watch from his hand. "Well, I get why you're doing this. I'd probably do it too."

He gave her a small nod. "I'm glad you understand. At least someone does."

"Just be careful, Jay," she told him after a brief pause.

"I will."

Once the car was bugged, they were set.

The plan was for Joe to drive to the meet with Jay, with the unit and two Officers following them. They would be close by and hopefully arrest Shostak.

Amy kept her distance behind Hank and Erin, her eyes flicking between the road and the laptop open on the passenger seat. The signal held steady. Joe's car hadn't dropped once.

Two abandoned warehouses came into view ahead.

Joe pulled in between them.

Amy slowed, stopping far enough back to stay out of sight. Around her, the rest of the unit settled into position, each car angled just enough to keep a clear line on Joe's.

She watched the signal hold.

Then it pinged.

Incoming call. "Price is getting a call."

Joe answered. Amy listened in, eyes locked on the screen as the connection stabilized.

"Take him out of the car. Show him to me."

Her gaze snapped up to Joe's vehicle.

The driver's door opened.

Joe stepped out.

Amy leaned forward slightly as he moved around the car, opened the passenger side, and dragged Jay out. His body stayed slack, convincing enough.

Joe shoved him against the car, scanning the area.

Amy's eyes tracked the same lines— rooftops, corners, windows. Nothing moved. No sign of Shostak.

"Satisfied?"

"Head to the abandoned storefront on Ridgeland and Roosevelt." The call ended.

Amy's focus dropped back to the laptop as Joe forced Jay into the car and got behind the wheel.

The signal started moving.

She shifted into drive, easing back into position behind the unit. They hadn't gone far before the phone pinged again.

Her screen lit up. "Shostak's calling again," she said into the radio.

Joe answered.

"Check your texts."

Amy leaned across the console, already working to pull the data through.

"Get me that text, Hughes."

"Working on it." The file came through a second later.

She opened it.

A young man tied to a chair. Amy forwarded it without comment. "It's Price's son," Hank said over the radio.

Amy's eyes flicked back to the road, then down to the screen.

The signal ahead slowed.

On her laptop, the dot lingered in place longer than it should have.

Not traffic.

Not a light.

It stayed there.

"Car's stopped," she said, voice steady, into the radio. "He's been sitting in the same spot for a few seconds."

The dot didn't move.

"He may have dumped the vehicle," she added. "Could be switching out."

A second later, the signal cut out completely.

Amy pulled over to the side of the street, shifting into park without taking her eyes off the screen. Her fingers moved quickly, bringing up the secondary trace.

A new signal appeared.

Moving.

Different direction.

Amy leaned in slightly, tracking it for a second— confirming.

"I've got Jay," she said into the radio as she forwarded the location of the tracking device to the unit. "Signal's active and moving. Different route— Joe switched cars."

She hadn't told him she'd placed it. It had happened earlier in the rush of the garage— just a brief adjustment to his collar as they passed each other, close enough in the chaos of getting ready that no one else would have noticed. Jay had, though. He didn't stop it, just registered it and kept moving.

She glanced up, locking in the direction. Then shifted back into drive. "I'm back on him."

The response from the team was immediate— no hesitation, no discussion. The formation tightened behind her as they shifted direction together, engines building speed through the open industrial stretch.

The roads out here were emptier than before. Warehouses and fenced-off lots replaced buildings, giving the suspect fewer options and less room to disappear.

Amy kept her focus split— just enough on the road to stay safe, just enough on the screen to not lose him.

The dot moved fast.

Then faster.

Ahead, the unit began to converge. Sirens layered into the distance as multiple cars adjusted their angles, closing in without fully committing yet.

Then the suspect made the mistake.

A straight stretch of road. No turns. No cover.

Hank moved first.

The lead unit car cut in sharply, forcing the red vehicle to react instead of escape.

It swerved.

Too late.

The impact came hard— metal snapping into metal as the red car was forced off balance.

The sound hit before anything else did.

For a split second, Amy's grip tightened on the wheel— automatic, reflexive. A flicker of memory tried to surface with the same violent geometry of motion, the same loss of control— but she forced it down immediately, staying in the present.

The red car clipped the edge of a parked industrial vehicle and rolled.

Once.

Twice.

Then came to rest on its side, dust settling around it in a slow wave.

Amy was already braking before it fully stopped.

She pulled in behind the rest of the unit and stepped out with her weapon raised, scanning immediately.

No movement from secondary threats.

Just the wreck.

"Chicago PD!" Hank's voice cut through the space. "Show me your hands!"

A moment of stillness.

Then movement inside the vehicle.

Slow. Controlled. Injured but conscious.

The driver pushed the door open and dropped out onto the pavement, landing on his knees.

Amy advanced just enough to control the space, weapon steady, posture locked in place.

"Hands up!" she ordered. "Now— on the ground!"

He complied immediately.

Hands behind his head. Breathing hard. Bleeding but not resisting.

Amy held position, watching him until she was sure he wasn't going to move again.

A sharp ache pulled through her shoulder as she kept her arm raised, but she didn't shift her stance. She worked through it, keeping the weapon steady.

Footsteps approached behind her.

"Amy—"

Jay.

She registered him instantly, but didn't break focus.

"Cuffs," he said.

Without looking away from the suspect, she handed them over.

Jay moved in, securing the man and pulling him fully into custody as the rest of the unit collapsed the perimeter around them.

Only when the situation was fully controlled did Amy lower her weapon slightly, rolling her shoulder once as the tension finally released, eyes still scanning the scene out of habit rather than necessity.

The return to the district was quiet in comparison. No sirens, no urgency in the same way— just the low hum of engines and the aftermath settling in behind them as they made their way back.

By the time they reached the garage, the energy had shifted completely. Doors opening, radios clicking off, people stepping out of cars in practiced rhythm.

Amy moved with the rest of them, but slower now— less driven by urgency, more by routine. Her weapon was secured, but her attention stayed sharp out of habit, eyes still scanning faces, exits, movement.

Hank stood and waited for them to gather around him. Kim and Sean were there as well, looking at the Sergeant.

"In about two minutes, I gotta meet Commander Perry so he can brief command staff," he started.

"You know, no one out there really knows how we operate," Hank continued after a beat. "How we put ourselves in harm's way. If they did, our hands would be tied. And the worst of the worst that we hunt down would go free. So when I say this stays in house, this stays in house so we can keep operating the way we do."

He turned to Jay. "Halstead... what you did today..."

He paused, then placed a hand briefly on Jay's shoulder—something rare, restrained, but genuine. A small smile followed. Pride, unspoken but clear.

Hank let go. "What you did for this city..." he added, then shook his head slightly. "Well, no one will ever know. But this family knows."

A short silence followed, heavier than the words themselves.

Then Adam lifted his hand slightly. "Since no one else is mentioning it." He looked toward Amy. "You bugged Halstead?”

Jay reached up immediately, pulling the tracker from his collar.

Amy didn't react much— just a small shrug, like it was procedural. "Of course I did. We were working with a retired hitman. I wasn't taking chances."

A few low chuckles moved through the group. No one questioned it further. If anything, it reinforced the outcome that mattered most— Jay was alive, and the case was closed.

"I'm going to Molly's and getting drunk," Antonio said, breaking the tension. "Anyone want to join?"

Erin smiled slightly at that.

"Yeah, I'm in," Kevin said.

"I'm in," Roman added.

Amy reached into her jacket pocket as they started leaving, pulling out the watch. "Here," she held it out to Jay.

"Thanks." Jay put it back on. "For this and for having my back."

"Of course," she gave a short nod, before heading out. Amy returned to her district and went straight to her office. Paperwork was waiting on her desk.

Her office was quiet.

She sat down, pulled a file closer, and started the report, pen moving in steady lines across the page.

Routine. Familiar.

Her gaze lifted for a moment without meaning to.

Across from her— just for a second— her mind filled in the space the way it used to be.

Jay sitting there. Same posture. Same focus. Half listening, half already ahead of the next move.

She blinked once.

The image didn't match the room in front of her. Amy looked back down at the paperwork and kept writing. Thankfully, she didn't have a lot of work to do and was back at her apartment less than an hour later.

Amy entered the apartment, putting her bag on the counter and slipping off her jacket, just as Jay walked out of the kitchen.

He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "I can move back to my apartment."

She hung her jacket up first— taking her time with it—before turning slightly toward him. "Right. You don't have a target on your back anymore."

Jay shifted aside so she could walk past into the kitchen, watching her as she got a glass of water. "You okay with that?"

Amy let out a quiet hum, taking a sip before answering. "It was never permanent. I moved in because I was injured. You moved in because your place wasn't safe. That's all it was."

The glass clicked softly as she set it down.

Jay nodded once, like he couldn't argue with the logic— but didn't fully let it go either. "I know. Still... four months is a long time."

A faint, almost reluctant half-smile tugged at his mouth. "Feels like it stopped being temporary somewhere along the way."

That earned a brief glance from her.

Not a correction. Not agreement either.

Just acknowledgment.

"It'll be fine," Amy said after a beat.

Jay exhaled through his nose. "Yeah," he said. "It will."

But he didn't move right away.

And neither did she.

Then he stepped a little closer to the counter, like he wasn't done with the conversation yet.

"You know," he said quieter now, "Erin told me you've been thinking about leaving homicide."

Amy glanced at him. "She talks too much."

"She wasn't wrong though."

That made her pause, just briefly.

Jay leaned a hand lightly on the counter beside her— not blocking her, not crowding her, just closer than before.

"There's still an open spot in Intelligence," he said. "Your spot."

"I know."

Simple. Flat. Not a decision either way.

A beat stretched between them.

Jay exhaled lightly through his nose, like he'd been holding something in longer than he meant to. "I miss my partner."

That landed cleanly.

Amy held his gaze a moment longer than usual. Her focus sharpened slightly— not defensive, not soft either. Just attentive, like she was trying to separate intent from words.

The rest of the apartment felt further away for a moment.

Jay didn't look away when he added, softer, "I want you back in Intelligence."

She didn't answer immediately, because it wasn't just about work in the way he was saying it.

It was rhythm. Familiarity. The kind of trust you don't notice until it changes.

Something she hadn't realized she'd adjusted to until it wasn't there anymore.

Jay shifted slightly, eyes flicking down for a fraction of a second— then back up.

Quick. Unmarked. Like it almost didn't happen.

Amy noticed anyway.

Her expression didn't change, but her attention did— a subtle recalibration, like she'd caught herself staying in the moment too long and was already trying to step back from it.

"You don't need me there," she said.

Jay shook his head once. "I'm better with you there."

That one landed heavier.

Not dramatic— just honest.

A silence followed.

Then, quieter: "We were better.”

That stayed in the air longer than anything else.

Amy didn't correct him.

Didn't agree either.

She just looked at him for a moment that didn't belong to cases or decisions.

Then she turned slightly, breaking the angle between them— not leaving, just resetting the space.

"I'll think about it," she said.

Jay nodded once. He didn't push.

But he also didn't step back right away. Amy held there for a second longer than she needed to. Then she moved.

Not quickly. Not abruptly. Just enough to break the stillness and give herself something else to do.

She left the kitchen and crossed the apartment without turning back. Her room was quiet when she closed the door behind her. For a moment, she just stood there.

Then she sat on the edge of the bed.

Hands loosely together, attention unfocused in a way she didn't correct immediately.

Her mind replayed the conversation in fragments rather than sequence. She exhaled once through her nose, quiet and controlled.

Four months of routine that had started to feel less like temporary logistics and more like something she hadn't assigned a category to yet.

Amy reached for her phone and scrolled through her contacts without much hesitation.

THE BOXES WERE STACKED neatly against the wall. Celina straightened up, resting her hands on her hips as she surveyed the mess around her. She nearly groaned at the thought of cleaning the room.

Kelly entered, carrying her corkboard in one hand and a box tucked under his arm. "It's kinda cozy," he said, observing the small space.

Celina nodded, a smile growing. "And I won't have to cook, which is the best." She grabbed the corkboard from him. "And also seeing my godson, of course."

He let out a small chuckle. "Of course." Kelly placed the box on the bed, his thoughts drifting to the fact that he'd be moving out soon too.

She noticed the way his expression changed, her smile faltering. "Something wrong?"

Kelly turned to her, huffing slightly. "Renée and I have been looking for a place. Shay's doing the same." He took a seat on the bed. "Things have been kinda tense these four months."

Celina nodded. "Yeah."

"I feel like every time I talk to her, it ends with an argument. We're not gonna be roommates anymore and this isn't how I want us to leave things."

She leaned the corkboard against the wall. "This is about Renée and what Shay said about the baby." Kelly nodded. "Look, I don't know Renée, but I know Shay. She wouldn't say that just to hurt you or in spite. I think she's genuinely worried. You guys should talk— I mean, really talk."

"Yeah," Kelly responded with a nod, knowing she was right. "I'm gonna talk to her." His eyes then landed on the corkboard.

She had a photo on the top left corner— of her, Shay and Kelly from one of their martini nights. And on the opposite side, there was a piece of paper.

The words 'bucket list' were written at the top in a black pen, with pink hearts around it. There wasn't much written down, but what was there caught his attention.

"You have a bucket list?" Kelly asked her, turning to look at her.

Celina glanced at it before smiling at her former roommate. "Uh, yeah. I finally have enough goals to actually make a list."

Kelly walked over to the corkboard and grabbed the list before reading it. "Learn a new language, more coffee products, learn to play an instrument, travel, work as an army medic."

He looked back at her, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. "You want to be an army medic?"

She shrugged lightly. "I would get to help people and do something that really matters."

Kelly nodded, understanding where she was coming from— admiring her willingness to help others. "Have you chosen a language?"

"Yeah, I was thinking Italian, since it's so close to Spanish."

"Hey," Herrmann appeared at the doorway, their eyes turning to him. "We planning to go to work or what?"

Kelly huffed. "Hold your horses, Herrmann." Celina grabbed her bag from the floor and threw the strap over her shoulder.

"Yeah, Hermy," Celina added, pushing past him as she shot him a sarcastic smile, which he was quick to return.

"This is what I get for letting you move in," Herrmann complained, trailing behind her down the stairs.

They had barely reached the bottom when the front door opened. Cindy stepped out on the porch, Kenny resting against her shoulder. "Good morning."

She was met with smiles. "Good morning," Celina and Kelly greeted her.

"Christopher, you forgot this." She held out his coffee.

"Knew I was forgetting something," Herrmann muttered, taking it from her.

Celina smiled before stepping closer, gently kissing Kenny's cheek. "Hey, little man," she whispered gently to the sleeping baby. 

Cindy smiled softly. "He's been spoiled ever since you moved in."

Herrmann rolled his eyes, already moving toward the car. "Alright, let's go." Celina and Kelly said bye to Cindy before getting in as well, leaving for work.

It was the same familiar routine, often interrupted by a high-risk call— the perfect way to start the day. They had barely finished changing when the alarm blared throughout the firehouse.

The fire truck sped through traffic, sirens echoing loudly through the streets. Celina adjusted the helmet, mentally preparing herself.

They came to a halting stop and stepped out onto the pavement. Casey approached the Chief, his Firefighters behind him.

"Someone's inside," Boden told Casey, gesturing toward the sidewalk. An older woman's walker had been left behind, abandoned beside the smoking building.

Casey eyed the building, quickly planning their next move. "We'll vent the roof and start in the basement."

Kelly stood close by. "We've got the main floor," he told Casey.

The Lieutenants were about to give out orders to their crews, but stopped when Boden spoke. "Woah, woah, woah, woah." They turned to him. "Do you smell—"

Before he could finish, sparks suddenly flew and an explosion ripped through the building. They instinctively jumped back, covering themselves.

Celina lowered her arm and quickly observed that the explosion had occurred in the basement. Casey jumped into action immediately. "Cruz, Herrmann and Otis, up the aerial to vent! Candidates, we're in the basement!"

She crouched down, removing her helmet, before putting on her mask. Pulling her helmet back on, she and Peter followed their Lieutenant toward the building.

Casey entered the basement first. It was small, and he quickly realized it was empty. He grabbed his radio. "There's no one down here! It's inferno, Chief! We're heading back the way we came!"

"Copy that," Boden responded.

The Firefighters turned around and started heading back, thinking that perhaps that woman was upstairs where Squad was searching.

They had barely stepped outside when a loud crash echoed from somewhere above them.

A second later, Kelly's frantic voice came through the radio. "Mayday, mayday! I'm trapped in the basement!"

Boden quickly called out to Mouch— they had to go in. The two grabbed a hose and rushed inside.

Celina removed her mask and helmet, unable to look away from the burning entrance.

Casey told her to stay back, that Boden had it under control. She stayed close to her Lieutenant, her eyes locked on the burning entrance, trusting her Chief to bring Kelly out.

Several intense seconds passed before Boden and Mouch exited the building, holding onto Kelly. They guided him down the steps.

Shay rushed over. "Let's get him down." Her eyes turned to Kelly, checking if he was hurt. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay," Kelly insisted, as he was guided to the small grass patch. "I'm okay." He removed his mask and helmet, before sitting down.

One of his men handed him a bottle of water. Celina watched him chug half of it in a matter of seconds, worry evident on her face. "You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine." Shay patted his back, before she went to the ambulance. Celina noticed the awkward interaction, but didn't comment on it. She was just glad they were all okay.

Kelly closed the bottle, before his eyes drifted to the side of the building. Casey frowned. "What is it?"

Celina turned to look at whatever had gotten his attention, her eyes landing on the numbers on the wall— 1751.

"That's my badge number," Kelly said quietly, pointing toward the wall.

The atmosphere inside Firehouse 51 was noticeably quieter when they returned.

Kelly had brushed off the incident, insisting he was fine, but the numbers painted on the building had left everyone unsettled.

Not wanting to dwell on it, Celina sat down at the common room table and opened her laptop. If there was one thing that always helped clear her head, it was work.

More specifically— keeping herself busy.

She clicked through the website she had been building for Molly's, adjusting the layout as she looked over the drink menu she had uploaded the night before.

Celina glanced up when she heard Mouch's voice. "This is the common room." A woman she had never seen before stood next to him. "This is where we lounge and wait for the alarm to go off."

Mouch looked over at Celina. "This is my friend and coworker, Celina."

"And this," he added, gesturing toward the woman beside him, "is Mari."

Standing up, Celina shook the woman's hand, offering her a smile. Upon hearing the name, she immediately knew who the woman was and her smile widened. "It's really nice to meet you."

"You as well."

Herrmann took a seat by the table. "Apparently she's gonna cook for us."

Celina went back to her chair. "As long as I don't have to." Mouch guided Mari to the kitchen area.

Her comment caused Herrmann to shoot her a look. "Well, you do if her food doesn't turn out good."

"Maybe it will." She turned her attention to her computer again, as Otis took the seat next to her. "Hopefully it will."

Otis smiled at her before glancing at the computer screen. "That's the website for Molly's?" He leaned in for a closer look.

"Yeah," Celina answered with a smile, turning the laptop toward him. "I added the drink menu, a link to the podcast website and one for my coffee brand. The address is at the bottom."

"It's really good."

"Thank you."

Whatever Mari was cooking smelled good. The scent traveled through the room, making the Firefighters look over in curiosity.

Peter went up to see what the woman was making. "Smells good," he told her. It was almost done, so instead of responding, Mari held up a spoon to the candidate and let him taste it.

He seemed taken aback. "Wow. This is amazing."

Mouch had observed this. "I've never eaten so good," he said to Peter and Herrmann, who was approaching them. "I come in, there's noodles, there's rice, there's little chopped-up fish."

Mari gave some to Herrmann, too. His reaction was similar to Peter's. "Holy mother, it's good," he chuckled. "Wow."

Celina chuckled at their reactions, relieved that she didn't have to cook. She was a good cook, but didn't like doing it.

Their reactions made her curious though, so she went over to have a taste too. "Wow," she mumbled upon tasting it. "This is amazing."

Mari smiled, satisfied with her work.

"Okay, everybody, listen up," Boden said, walking in. "The state of Illinois, in all its wisdom, has brought in a consultant to make recommendations on firehouse closures."

"What?"

"51 is on that list," Boden continued, ignoring Herrmann. "To be certain that it doesn't happen here, we are gonna tighten up, not give 'em a reason to even look in our direction. Does everybody understand?"

"Meaning what, Chief?" Joe questioned.

"Meaning that the trucks and the gas will be monitored. So no more side trips to go and get ice cream. You also will be required to join a wellness program, or you will pay higher premiums."

"This is insanity, Chief," Herrmann complained.

"Yeah, according to these wellness doctors, I'm technically obese," Mouch added.

Casey glanced at them, before turning to face the Chief. "The union's not gonna stand for this," he stated.

"Actually," Herrmann spoke. "I heard douchebag Greg Sullivan is running for union president."

Mouch dropped the spoon he was holding in frustration. Celina turned to Herrmann, confused. "Who?"

Herrmann groaned in annoyance. "I know him from bowling league. And let me tell you, he's no fireman's fireman. He's a climber."

"Regardless, we lock it down starting now," Boden told them.

"You got it, Chief," Casey responded.

Boden nodded. "You're gonna have some new faces soon from the house that's already been closed. Everybody, keep an eye out."

////

CELINA WENT FROM booth to booth, placing the newly laminated drink menus on each table. She smiled to herself, satisfied with how polished they looked.

Shay looked at her from the bar, shaking her head slightly with a small smile. "Gosh," she muttered. "I don't think I've ever seen someone be this happy over drink menus."

As she made her way behind the bar, Celina shoved the blonde in the process, making her chuckle. "I've spent a lot of time coming up with these drinks, so be nice."

"Okay, okay," Shay raised her hands in mock surrender. She sighed, sipping her drink, remembering the apartment hunt.

"Have you talked to Kelly?" Shay's eyes were fixated on her drink. She shook her head. "He said he'd talk to you."

Shay shrugged. "Work keeps us busy."

"Not that busy." That got Shay to look at her. "You guys are best friends and have been for a long time. This Renée thing shouldn't come in the way of that."

"It's more complicated than that." She pushed the stool back, getting up. "I gotta go. I'll see you tomorrow."

Celina nodded and smiled at her friend. "Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow." She watched as the blonde walked out of the bar. Just as she was about to turn away, a familiar face appeared and she stilled for a moment.

The man stopped at the door, recognizing her as well. "No way," he muttered.

A small smile formed on her face, the shock faltering. "What brings you here, ranger?"

He shrugged lightly. "I've heard good things about this place. Didn't realize you worked here, New York."

She let a small chuckle out, rounding the bar. "Well, I didn't back then." Celina approached him, pulling him into a hug. He returned it instantly, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Pulling away, she looked up at him. "It's good to see you, Jay."

"You too."

"Can I get you anything?" Celina stepped back behind the counter.

"Surprise me." He took a seat by the bar.

A small grin tugged at her lips. "Careful, ranger. I take that as a challenge."

He let out a chuckle, leaning on the counter. Jay watched as she turned toward the shelves behind her. She moved with ease, grabbing bottles without hesitation, mixing ingredients together like muscle memory had taken over long ago.

His eyes followed her quietly.

It was strange, in a way.

When he'd first met her years ago, she'd been different. More guarded. Quiet in a way that had stood out immediately, especially in a room full of people trying to unpack pieces of themselves. She'd barely spoken those first few meetings, shoulders tense, eyes always distant.

Standing here now, confidently moving around the bar with an easy smile on her face, she looked lighter somehow. Chicago had been good to her.

A minute later, she turned around and slid the drink in front of him. It was bright pink, with a strawberry resting neatly against the rim of the glass. 

Jay stared at it, then slowly looked up at her.

Celina stood there, both hands resting against the counter, smiling far too proudly. One of his eyebrows lifted as she bit back a grin. "What?"

He glanced back down at the drink before looking at her again. "This," he gestured vaguely toward the glass, "is what you came up with?"

She folded her arms. "You told me to surprise you."

He reached for the menu resting nearby, scanning over the names. "And which one would this be?"

"Miss sunshine special."

Jay looked back at her. "Is it named after you?"

Her smile widened instantly. "Yes, but I didn't come up with it. My friend Otis did."

He let out a quiet breath through his nose, shaking his head slightly before finally picking up the glass.

"You know," she added casually, clearly enjoying this far too much, "I figured you could benefit from a little color in your life."

Jay gave her a flat look before taking a sip. Celina watched him expectantly.

A beat passed.

He took another sip. She noticed immediately. "Well?" she asked, already looking smug.

Jay set the glass down slowly, pausing before responding. "I hate that this is good."

Her face lit up triumphantly. "Thought so."

He glanced at the drink again, still mildly offended by the color. "I'm not ordering this in public."

Celina laughed softly, shaking her head. "Don't worry, ranger." She leaned against the counter, grin still firmly in place. "Your secret's safe with me."

Jay looked at her for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching upward despite himself. Some things, apparently, never changed.

////

CELINA SHUT THE CAR DOOR behind her, adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder as she made her way toward the firehouse.

Her appointment had taken longer than expected, meaning she was running later than usual. Not late enough for Boden to care, thankfully— but late enough that everyone else had already started their shift.

She frowned when she noticed several figures gathered outside instead of being inside preparing for the day.

Casey stood near the sidewalk, arms crossed over his chest. Next to him stood Kelly. And directly in front of them—

She slowed to a stop.

The black car parked by the curb was almost completely scorched, parts of the exterior blackened beyond recognition. The sharp smell of burnt metal still lingered faintly in the morning air.

Her eyes widened.

"What the hell happened?"

Kelly glanced over at the familiar voice, watching as she quickly approached. "I was wondering when you'd show up," he muttered dryly.

Celina ignored the comment entirely, staring at what remained of his car. "I saw this car yesterday." Her eyes moved to him immediately. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Kelly shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'm fine."

Only then did she notice the two unfamiliar men standing nearby.

One looked older, posture rigid, expression unreadable. The other stood beside him with a camouflage duffel bag slung over one shoulder.

She knew immediately they were from firehouse 33. "You must be the new guys. I'm Celina."

"I'm Lieutenant Spellman," the older man shook her hand. "This is Clarke."

Clarke shook her hand firmly. "Ma'am."

She offered them both a polite smile despite still being visibly distracted by Kelly's destroyed car. "Welcome to 51." She glanced at the wreck again.

"Hey!" A voice called out. They turned to see Otis standing by the truck. "Boden wants everyone in the locker room!"

Casey nodded first, immediately turning toward the firehouse. Kelly followed beside him, Spellman falling into step with the two Lieutenants as they headed inside.

Clarke stayed behind for a moment before quietly following after them.

Celina glanced at him briefly before matching his pace, walking beside him as they made their way toward the entrance.

Her eyes drifted toward the bag resting against his shoulder.

"You were in the military?" she asked casually.

He turned his head slightly, meeting her gaze. "Yes, ma'am."

There was a brief pause between them as they stepped into the firehouse, making their way down the hall.

"We don't have to talk about it," he added after a moment, his voice polite but closed off. Like it was a conversation he'd had before.

Celina studied him for a second, immediately understanding she had touched on something personal.

She gave a small nod. "Thank you for your service."

For the first time, something shifted in his expression. Surprise, subtle but noticeable.

Like he hadn't expected that response. After a second, he gave her a small nod.

Neither said anything else as they continued walking.

By the time they reached the locker room, most of the others had already gathered around. Clarke moved toward the back without a word.

"Good morning, Chief," Celina greeted Boden as she made her way past him.

He gave her a nod back. "Good morning."

She moved to stand next to Otis, who was leaning against the lockers.

Boden waited for them to settle before talking. "Due to the cutbacks, overtime pay has been suspended."

There were some groans. "Here we go," Herrmann muttered, annoyed.

"We are gonna start doubling up on lockers," the Chief continued. "They're gonna take out that whole section and use it to store some of the equipment from the closed Firehouse 33. Please don't ask me why."

"This has reached a new level of absurdity," Herrmann complained.

"So now, you get to choose who you wanna share with." Gabby was quick to pick Shay, reaching out and putting her hand on the blonde's shoulder.

"Anyone but Cruz, I'm begging you," Otis mumbled, forcing Celina to hold back a laugh.

Joe raised his hand. "I'll take Otis."

"He didn't mean that," Otis told Boden.

The small smile faded from Boden's face. "On a more serious note, we have a reason to believe that Kelly Severide has gotten the attention of an arsonist."

His words shocked them, causing Celina to look at her friend. His expression immediately confirmed it. "I have been assured by CPD and arson investigation that they are into it. But I expect extra vigilance in the coming shifts from all of you."

There was a brief pause as they processed the situation. "And finally, today marks one year since we lost Andy Darden. Everyone hold a thought for him and the family that he left behind. We are all a little less without him in our lives." He gave them a slight nod. "I'll leave you to it."

Otis almost immediately turned to Celina, as the room started to empty. "Will you share a locker with me? Otherwise I might have to share with Cruz."

She nodded, smiling. "Yeah, that could be fun."

A smile grew on his face. "It will be fun."

They turned when they heard a whistle. Joe was leaning against the doorframe. "We're going for a ride." He turned and left, not waiting for a response.

After gearing up, they got in the truck.

Joe pulled out and started driving.

The conversation soon became about Kelly's situation. "It started with that call," Celina spoke. "Yesterday. His badge number was written on the wall."

Otis nodded. "Yeah, that definitely wasn't a coincidence."

"Then his car caught on fire," Herrmann said, shaking his head slightly. "Who would do this? Who would go after a Firefighter? People like us."

A moment later, the truck came to a stop. "If anyone asks, we saw a cat in a tree," Casey told Joe before opening the door.

"Got it," Joe responded. He watched as the Lieutenant closed the door and entered a building— it was a personal stop.

Celina leaned her head back, thinking about the entire situation, wondering why Kelly was being targeted. Why him, specifically? His badge number, his car.

This was personal.

A few minutes passed before Casey got back. He entered the truck. "See, no one will even know we were gone." Just as he shut the door, they were alerted by the dispatcher.

Building fire— truck 81, squad 3, engine 51.

Joe immediately pulled out, the sirens blaring.

Once at the scene, the truck didn't come to a complete stop before the Firefighters started exiting, immediately jumping into action.

Casey had a clear plan, ordering them to follow him. Celina got her mask and helmet on, before following them into the building— Squad was with them.

It was a tall building, with at least three floors and they didn't know how many people were inside.

They went up the stairs and almost immediately Celina's eyes landed on a figure on the floor. She rushed over to check on them. It was a woman.

Celina grabbed her arm and helped her to her feet, before holding her close and guiding her toward the stairs.

She held onto the woman as they descended the staircase. Celina pulled her through the front door as the woman continued to cough due to the heavy smoke.

As soon as the woman was out and safe, Celina went back inside, joining the others upstairs.

The second floor was quickly cleared and they moved to the third. Celina moved behind her Lieutenant, turning to the left to clear that part of the building, when something caught her eye outside the window.

She froze when she noticed flames outside and immediately moved closer.

Her eyes almost widened at the sight. "Lieutenant, we have a problem!"

Casey's head snapped in her direction. "What is it!?"

"We got a fire in the next building!"

He was soon by her side, looking out the window. The wind picked up, the fire was spreading. Casey grabbed his radio to alert Boden. "Fire's jumping, Chief!"

With Gabby and Shay inside the next building treating a victim, the situation had suddenly become much worse.

After a moment, Boden radioed Casey, confirming it. "Shay and Dawson are trapped in building two. Can you see them?"

Celina frantically looked around until her eyes landed on the window above— on the fourth floor of the building. She saw Gabby. "There she is!" She pointed at the paramedic.

"Got them, Chief," Casey told Boden. Gabby was contacting the Chief as well, letting him know the woman being treated couldn't move.

At least the fire in the first building was out thanks to engine.

They heard Boden's voice again. "Casey, we can't get the aerial in there to pull them out."

Celina instinctively turned to her Lieutenant, knowing he'd come up with a solution. Which he did. Grabbing his radio, Casey contacted the Firefighters outside. "Mills, Otis, run a straight ladder up. We bring them across."

For this plan to work, they had to be parallel with the paramedics, so they had to move up to the next floor. Kelly was already moving. "Let's go!"

The three Firefighters rushed up the stairs.

The Lieutenants went to get the ladder, while Celina rushed over and opened the window. "Gabby!" She called out to her friend.

Gabby appeared. "We don't have much time!" The fire was growing and getting closer to them.

They got the ladder on the window frame and carefully, but quickly, pushed it toward Gabby, who grabbed the other end.

The ladder was placed flat between the two buildings, the rest of the firehouse having a clear view of it from the sidewalk.

Casey grabbed the hose that had been brought up with the ladder before climbing out the window and making his way across.

Kelly turned to Celina, urgency in his voice. "I'm gonna help Casey! You stay here and help them get across!"

"Yes, Lieutenant!" Her response was quick. She watched as Kelly climbed out the window and moved across the ladder.

She saw Gabby.

The paramedic carefully placed her hands on the ladder, before climbing on it. Celina could see how nervous she was, her eyes stuck on the ground below.

"Gabby!" Celina called over. "Gabby, look at me!" The paramedic slowly looked up, meeting her friend's eyes. "You can do this! Slow movements!"

Gabby could barely nod, her movements slow, but somewhat deliberate. Thankfully the gap between the two buildings wasn't that big and it didn't take long for her to reach Celina.

The Firefighter grabbed her friend's hands and helped her down.

Once Gabby was on the floor, Celina turned to the window again, just in time for Peter and Otis to arrive.

Kelly helped Shay on the ladder. She had seen Gabby and knew not to look down, so she kept her eyes ahead— on Celina.

The blonde crossed faster, Celina and Otis helping her down. "Get me off this thing," Shay muttered as they did so.

The job wasn't over though.

The fire was still growing in the second building as Casey was struggling to tame it, and the victim had to be moved as well.

Casey had to abandon the hose to help Kelly.

The woman was on the backboard. They carefully guided the backboard onto the ladder.

Slowly, they began sliding it across.

Celina and Peter reached out to grab the other end and pulled the backboard all the way in, backing away slowly.

The backboard was almost halfway in when Gabby and Otis jumped in and grabbed the other end.

The four of them held onto the backboard and slowly put her down. She was still unconscious, but breathing. Celina and Otis moved in, grabbing each end before lifting her up and moving toward the stairs.

Shay rushed after them.

The two Firefighters moved down the stairs as quickly, but as carefully, as possible. They were moving down from the fourth floor, which meant a lot of stairs.

The paramedic moved ahead and tried to guide them as best as she could, occasionally grabbing Celina's arm so she didn't trip, seeing as she was walking backwards.

As they neared the first floor, Celina felt her arms beginning to ache, but shifting her grip wasn't an option.

As soon as they stepped out, the other Firefighters rushed over with the stretcher from the ambulance. They quickly got the woman on it and Shay tended to her.

Celina was finally able to remove her mask and helmet, but before she could take a breath, a deafening metallic clang suddenly echoed through the alleyway between the buildings.

Her head snapped toward the sound instinctively.

The ladder was gone.

It now lay twisted several floors below.

Her stomach dropped. For one horrifying second, she thought someone had fallen with it. She quickly looked up.

Casey was hanging in midair, both hands desperately gripping the hose they had been pulling back moments earlier.

Standing at the window above, Kelly immediately leaned forward, grabbing both of Casey's arms as he began pulling him up.

He struggled, but with Peter's help, they were able to pull Casey up.

Celina finally exhaled, knowing they were safe.

The rest of the call passed without incident. Once the victim had been taken by ambulance, the firefighters stayed behind to finish cleanup— rolling hoses, gathering equipment and making sure the trucks were ready for the next call.

By the time they got back to Firehouse 51, the adrenaline had long faded and darkness had settled outside.

The common room had become unusually quiet, everyone taking the chance to finally sit down after the long shift.

She sat on the couch, leaning back and getting comfortable. Pouch jumped up and climbed into her lap. Celina smiled faintly, stroking the dog's back.

"Oh, my God," she heard Otis mutter from the long table. He didn't sound panicked, so she knew it wasn't serious and he was most likely just being dramatic.

As usual.

Celina looked over at Otis, who was sitting on one of the chairs and staring wide-eyed at a phone, which wasn't his.

Herrmann looked over too. "What?" He walked over and grabbed the phone, as Celina got up. She saw the way Herrmann's expression fell into shock.

Now she was curious.

She stood next to Otis and looked at the phone with them. Quickly, Celina realized they were scrolling through photos of Joe at Game Day, clearly enjoying himself.

She felt confused and disappointed, as Herrmann played a video recorded at the bar, showing Joe partying and having fun. Music was playing loudly in the back, people were drinking heavily.

When Joe walked in, he knew immediately what was going on, his eyes widening.

Herrmann turned the phone off and threw it to Joe. "Thanks a million, Judas!"

"Guys, what do you want me to say?" He glanced between them, seeing they were mad. "Game Day's incredible. It's the best bar in Chicago. No, it's the single greatest place on earth."

Almost immediately, an argument broke out and soon they were yelling at each other. It escalated, which got the attention of the rest of the firehouse and the room started to fill up.

Celina tried to calm down Herrmann, who seemed to be the angriest, but it didn't work. Casey stepped closer, trying to figure out what was going on and why they were arguing.

"HEY!" Mouch screamed. All eyes were suddenly on him and the yelling died down. They watched as he grabbed Sullivan's poster from the corkboard and tore it in half.

Confusion washed over their faces, as Mouch threw the pieces of paper on the floor. "I would like to announce that I, Randy McHolland, am running for Union President, and I would appreciate your support."

They kept staring back at him, processing what he just told them, as he waited for a response or reaction.

Celina and Herrmann reacted first, both smiling at their friend. He pointed at Mouch. "Attaboy, Mouch. That's the best news I heard all day."

"You're gonna do great," she added. They all went up and congratulated Mouch, cheering him on, but it was cut short by the alarm.

The dispatcher alerted them that there had been a car accident, so they were prepared— or so they thought.

Only one car was involved in the accident.

They exited the truck and followed their Lieutenant, moving toward the black car. Joe and Herrmann went to the passenger seat, as the rest approached the Officer.

"DUI," Officer Atwater informed them. "The passenger's in pretty bad shape." They watched as Herrmann and Joe got the woman out of the car and onto the stretcher.

Gabby looked her over, her eyes focusing on the blood on her temple. "Head trauma," she observed. "Losing blood fast. We gotta move now."

The paramedics rolled the stretcher into the ambulance.

"Where's the driver?" Casey asked Atwater, who just pointed.

They turned, curious to know who had caused this accident. Celina's jaw almost dropped when she saw the familiar face. Around her, the others looked equally stunned.