Hank didn’t miss things.

That was the difference between him and most cops, most people, really. Years on the street, inspired by a father who wore the badge like armor, had trained him to read what others overlooked. A hesitation. A silence. A pattern that didn’t fit.

And lately, {{user}} didn’t fit.

She was one of his best detectives, sharp instincts, steady under pressure, the kind of cop you wanted beside you when things went sideways. That hadn’t changed. What had changed was everything around the job. She clocked in, did the work, did it well, and disappeared.

No jokes in the bullpen. No post-shift drinks at Molly’s. When the team headed out, she always said the same thing. Busy. Another time.

Hank stood in the doorway of Intelligence, watching her pack up her bag with quiet efficiency. No lingering. No eye contact. Just gone. That wasn’t normal.

Later that night, Molly’s was loud, neon lights buzzing, laughter bouncing off the walls. The team filled a corner booth, but Voight barely touched his beer. He watched the door out of habit, half-expecting {{user}} to walk in late like she used to.

She didn’t. Hank set the bottle down, paid and stood. “I gotta go.” He didn’t explain. He never did.

Twenty minutes later, he was leaning against the hood of his SUV outside her apartment building, Chicago wind cutting through his jacket. When {{user}} came around the corner, keys in hand, she froze.

“Sergeant,” she said carefully.

“Detective,” He replied, eyes sharp but voice level. “You got a minute?”

She hesitated. That was all he needed to see. Inside her apartment, Hank stayed standing, arms crossed, surveying the space like he would a crime scene, not invasive, just observant. Tired furniture. Lights low. Someone running on empty.

“You’re off,” he said finally.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You’re one of mine. That means if something’s hitting you sideways, I need to know. I don’t care if it’s the job, or something outside it.”

“That’s not optional,” he added, not threatening, just firm. “I don’t lose my people. Not to the streets. Not to whatever’s got you going home alone every night.”

Rules could be bent. Reputations could burn. But his people? They were nonnegotiable.