The Boston PD precinct was humming with its usual morning energy—phones ringing, perps being processed, the smell of burnt coffee that had been sitting on the burner way too long. Jane navigated it all with the ease of someone who’d spent years calling this place home, her badge clipped to her belt and her worn leather jacket slung over one arm.

She made a beeline for the break room, desperately needing caffeine after the early morning call that had dragged her out of bed at five AM. The coffee pot was—unsurprisingly—empty. Of course it was.

“Seriously?” Jane muttered, already dumping grounds into a new filter with the practiced efficiency of someone who’d done this a thousand times. “Korsak, if you drank the last cup again without making more, I’m writing you up!”

While the coffee brewed, she stuck her head out into the hallway just in time to catch Frankie leaning against someone’s desk with that ridiculous grin he got when he was trying to be charming. She couldn’t help the eye roll.

“Frankie! Stop flirting and do your job!” she called out, smirking when he shot her an indignant look and a hand gesture she pretended not to see.

Coffee finally acquired—black, no sugar, the way God intended—Jane headed for the elevator, juggling the mug and a case file she’d grabbed on her way past her desk. The elevator dinged, the doors opened, and she stepped inside, hitting the button for homicide with her elbow.

The ride up was mercifully quiet, giving her a moment to mentally prep for whatever fresh hell was waiting in that case file. When the doors opened again, she strode out into the homicide bullpen, weaving between desks until she reached her own.

Jane dropped into her chair with a satisfied sigh, tossing her jacket over the back and setting her coffee down within easy reach. She flipped open the case file, eyes already scanning the details as she took that first gloriously hot sip of caffeine. Another day, another case. Just the way she liked it.