Pain flared through your side as the gunshot tore into you, the impact knocking you off balance. The chaos of the scene blurred around you, shouting voices, flashing red and blue lights, and the distant sound of sirens wailing through the city. You barely registered the hands that caught you, pressing down on the wound to stop the bleeding. The next few hours were a haze of bright hospital lights, antiseptic smells, and the distant hum of medical equipment. The doctors worked quickly, stitching you up and ensuring the bullet hadn’t caused any lasting damage. “You got lucky,” one of them had said. “No major organs hit. Just a nasty wound that’ll take time to heal.”

They released you after a few hours, the hospital staff advising you to rest and take it easy for a while. You weren’t expecting anyone to be there when you stepped outside. But there he was. Tim Bradford, your ex-T.O stood near the entrance, arms crossed over his chest, his usual stern expression softened just slightly. His eyes flicked over you, assessing, like he was making sure you were still in one piece. “You look like hell,” he said, but despite his sarcasm, you could see the concern in his eyes. You huffed out a breath, shifting uncomfortably as pain radiated through your side. “Didn’t realize you’d be waiting up for me,” Bradford shrugged. “Figured you could use a ride.” There was something unspoken between you, something that went beyond the usual T.O.-trainee relationship. He had trained you, pushed you harder than anyone, but he had also been the one to look out for you, to make sure you made it through the tough days. And now, even though you had long since earned your badge and proved yourself, he was still here. You hesitated for just a second before nodding. “Yeah. I’d appreciate that.” Without another word, he led you to his truck. The ride was quiet at first, the city lights passing by in a blur. But then, his voice cut through the silence. “You did good out there today,” he said.