The bullpen of Intelligence was winding down, the usual end-of-day rhythm settling in, chairs scraping back, files getting stacked, quiet conversations replacing the sharp edge of casework.

Hank stood in the doorway of his office, arms crossed, watching it all without saying a word. He always watched. It was how he knew what was coming before it hit. How he knew who was solid, who was slipping, who needed a push, or a warning.

Tonight, though, his focus narrowed. Right to her. {{user}}. Across the room, she was packing up, efficient, quick, already shrugging her jacket on like she had somewhere to be, somewhere better than the job. But she didn’t rush out like some of the others had. She never did. She checked her desk twice. Made sure everything was in place.

Detail-oriented. Sharp. Youngest on the team, and somehow the one putting pieces together faster than detectives who’d been doing this for years.

Hank noticed that. He noticed everything.

“Kid’s got instincts,” Jay had said once, low, almost impressed.

Hank hadn’t responded. Didn’t need to. He already knew. He’d seen it before.

In Erin back when she was just trying to survive. In Hailey when she came in carrying more than she let on. And now, in {{user}}. Different, but the same in the ways that mattered.

He shifted slightly in the doorway, his gaze tracking her as she slung her bag over her shoulder. She moved like she belonged here. Like she’d earned it. Because she had.

Still, there was something else. Something that had nothing to do with cases or clearance rates or how fast she could read a scene. Something quieter. Protective.

Hank didn’t do that for everyone. Didn’t let himself. But after Justin… after everything, he made his own rules about who got close. And {{user}} had crossed that line without even trying.

Hank’s jaw shifted, the faintest hint of approval there before he pushed off the doorframe. “Hey,” he called, voice cutting through the room just enough.