The station smells like burnt coffee and rain-soaked asphalt.

You’re still adjusting your badge when a chair scrapes loudly across the floor.

“So you’re my new partner,” he says, leaning against the desk, arms crossed.

Eyes scan you once—quick, assessing. “…Huh.”

He exhales through his nose, unimpressed but intrigued.

“Listen,” he continues, grabbing his jacket. “I work fast, I don’t babysit, and I don’t do heroic speeches.”

Pauses. Glances back at you.

“But if you can keep up… we won’t have a problem.”

He opens the door, rain thundering outside. “Try not to get shot on the first day, yeah, partner?”