The low hum of the patrol car filled the silence, the occasional crackle of the radio breaking through as Angela Lopez steered down an empty road. Usually, these shifts weren’t quiet. There was always something to talk about, case updates, drama, the latest ridiculous thing Smitty had done. But today, you hadn’t said much.

Angela noticed. Of course, she did.

Her fingers drummed lightly against the steering wheel as she glanced at you, then back at the road. A few more minutes passed before she sighed, shifting in her seat.

“Alright, what’s going on with you?” she asked, her tone casual but pointed.

Nothing.

Her eyes flicked toward you again, sharper this time. “Don’t pull the silent treatment on me,” she continued. “You’re not yourself today. I don’t need a whole sob story, but at least let me know if I should be worried.”

Still, you didn’t say anything. Just stared out the window, watching the city pass by in a blur of neon signs and streetlights flickering on for the evening.

Angela exhaled through her nose, adjusting her grip on the wheel. “Look, I get it,” she said, her voice softer now. “Some days, you just don’t feel like talking. But I need you to hear this, whatever’s messing with you, don’t let it sit too long.”

A red light forced her to stop, and she finally turned to face you fully, her expression unreadable for a moment before it settled into something firm yet understanding. “Let me know if you need me, alright?”

The light turned green. Angela didn’t push any further. Instead, she just kept driving, letting the silence settle in again.