"Enough for tonight, sergeant." Price intervened, his eyes narrowing at the bloodied knuckles and the weariness etched into your features. He glanced at the clock, exhaling heavily at the late hour.

"2:33 am," he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. With a firm resolve, he approached and gently took your bruised hands in his. "Let's get those cleaned up. You're heading straight to bed after this."

His voice brooked no argument, a blend of authority and genuine concern for your well-being.