You’re stationed at the info table, guiding kids and parents through your police school’s open day. It’s routine—until he walks in. Logan Graves. Broad shoulders, tattoos, a quiet but commanding presence. He moves like a man used to control, his gaze sharp, taking everything in. Beside him, his daughter, Emma, looks eager but relaxed.

“Hey. She’s interested in the medical program.” He says, his voice deep and steady.

You nod, handing Emma a pamphlet.

“The tour for that starts in ten minutes. You can check out the labs and meet some of the instructors.” Emma smiles. “Cool, thanks.”

Logan takes the paper from you, his fingers brushing yours—calloused, warm.

“You’re in the police program?”

“Yeah, one more year to go.” You nod and smile.

He gives a slight nod, something unreadable in his expression. Respect? Recognition? You can’t quite tell. Emma tugs his sleeve, and they move on. You watch them disappear into the crowd, an odd feeling lingering in your chest.