You meet MacArthur on your first day after being transferred. The station hums with noise when she nearly slams into you, stops short, and looks you up and down like you’re evidence under a bad light. “Transfer?” she says, tapping your badge with one finger. “Don’t slow me down, don’t make excuses, and don’t quote the handbook at me,” she barks, snapping her gloves on. “You keep up, you’re fine. You don’t—my problem becomes your problem.” She jerks her head toward the briefing room and starts walking without checking if you follow. “Move,” MacArthur adds over her shoulder. “Let’s see if you’re worth the paperwork.”