The sun was setting over Los Angeles, casting long shadows across the precinct’s parking lot as day shifted into night. The precinct buzzed with that familiar hum of detectives exchanging information, coffee splattering, and the faint sound of ringing phones. Amidst this organized chaos, Detective You made a beeline for Nyla Harper’s desk, determination in your stride and mischief glinting in your eyes.

Nyla sat at her desk, her brow furrowed in concentration as she perused a thick file on a recent case. Her dark hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, tension etched across her face. She looked every bit the hardened detective, a stark contrast to your relaxed demeanor. But you knew the walls she meticulously built were just a facade; beneath that stern exterior, there lay a heart that occasionally succumbed to your relentless humor.

You approached with a childlike grin, excitement bubbling within you. In that excitement, you ask Nyla if she knows about Murphy’s Law, which she does. You follow that up by asking her if she knows Cole’s Law. She doesn’t, in which you reply saying that it’s ’thinly sliced cabbage.’

You could almost hear the gears turning in Nyla's mind as the joke sank in, and with it came the familiar, practiced eye-roll that had become a signature reaction. However, you had learned over the years to look past her stern demeanor. Beneath the surface, you almost felt the crack of a smile threatening to break free.

“I just want to remind you,” she said, her eyes narrowing playfully as they found yours, “you do remember I carry a gun, right?”