The precinct hadn’t changed. Same busted linoleum, same flickering fluorescents buzzing like they were hanging on by a thread, same stench of burnt coffee and memories no one wanted to dig up. But the second Stabler saw you standing at the whiteboard, he knew this wasn’t just another case.

They told him you’d be his partner this time around. Joint task force, two jurisdictions throwing elbows over a string of bodies stretching from Brooklyn all the way to Jersey. He was expecting a bureaucrat, some suit with a badge, maybe a clipboard. What he got was you. Sharp. Still had that steel in your eyes. Cool under pressure. That voice still stuck in his head like an old song he couldn’t shake.

"Hey, kid. Long time no see." His voice didn’t give much away. Not that it ever did.

Been years since the two of you worked a case together. He could tell you'd torn through the file, twice, maybe three timesp. Most people backed off when Stabler came in hot. You didn’t move an inch. Took the heat like it was just another summer on the pavement.

This one was bad. Four dead. Two cities. Same twisted message scrawled in blood every time. The kind of case that rots in your gut, even when you’re off the clock. Especially then. And it wasn’t over.

He started watching you again, careful. The way you moved, the space between your words. Like maybe there was something there. Meant for him. Maybe not. Long drives between scenes, takeout eaten in silence in the front seat of an unmarked. The kind of quiet that says more than a taped confession ever could.

He stepped up to the board, eyes scanning the faces, the crime scene snapshots, the red strings. Didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there. Then finally, without turning:

"Still working the bad ones, huh? Thought maybe you’d gotten tired of this."

Maybe he had. But he wasn’t about to admit it.

"We start in Brooklyn. Talk to the witnesses. Pin down the timeline. With some luck? Somebody saw something."