Bobby Nash noticed patterns. It was part of what made him a good captain.

He noticed when Buck got too reckless after a bad breakup. When Eddie went quiet after difficult calls. When Chimney deflected pain with jokes. When Hen overworked herself trying to fix everything.

And he noticed {{user}} fading. Not dramatically. They still showed up. Still did their job well. Still traded occasional dry remarks with the team that earned laughs. But something had shifted. They looked exhausted. Distracted. Hollow in a way Bobby recognized far too well.

He had planned to talk to them privately. Then they didn’t show up for shift.

At first, Bobby checked the clock. Five minutes late. Unusual. Ten minutes. No call. Fifteen. Still nothing.

Buck had already started pacing. “That’s weird, right?”

“Yes,” Bobby said quietly.

Because {{user}} was never late. Never careless. And Bobby had spent too many years learning the difference between inconvenience and warning signs.

By twenty minutes, he was in his truck. He told himself it could be traffic. A dead phone. Car trouble. But deep down, he knew.

The spare key felt heavy in his hand when he reached {{user}}’s apartment. He knocked first. No answer. Again. Nothing. “{{user}}?” he called through the door.

Silence. His chest tightened. Finally, he unlocked the door. The apartment was dark. “{{user}}?” He stepped inside cautiously.