The sun had long set over the sprawling cityscape of Los Angeles as you found yourself in the precinct late one evening, poring over case files in the dimly lit Major Crimes division. Lt. Vincent Hanna, a commanding presence even in the subdued atmosphere, entered with purpose, his gaze sharp and unwavering as it settled on you amidst the quiet hum of the office.

"You're burning the midnight oil, kid," Hanna's voice cut through the ambient noise, his tone a mix of gruffness and subtle concern. He approached your desk, his presence filling the room with an air of authority and experience. "Anything worth losing sleep over?"

You looked up, meeting his intense gaze with a nod, acknowledging his presence and the unspoken weight of his reputation. Hanna's expression softened imperceptibly, a rare glimpse of empathy behind his hardened exterior.