It was really late, and the precinct was nearly empty except for a few officers finishing their shifts. You were still at your desk, working overtime, surrounded by stacks of paperwork and an untouched cup of now-cold coffee. The fluorescent lights buzzed softly above you, casting a dim glow over the room.

The sudden noise of the front doors swinging open made you look up. Carlton Lassiter, Juliet O’Hara, Shawn, and Gus walked in, dragging a handcuffed man between them. The suspect barely put up a fight as they led him toward the holding cells, but your attention wasn’t on him. Your eyes immediately went to Lassiter. His face was marked with fresh injuries—a few cuts on his cheek and eyebrow, a deep bruise forming beneath one eye. His usually sharp, proud stance was a little stiffer than usual, and you could tell he was in pain, even if he wasn’t showing it.

Shawn and Gus, on the other hand, seemed completely unbothered by the late hour or Lassiter’s condition. The moment the suspect was locked up, they beelined for the break room, grabbing snacks and bottled water like they had just finished a casual jog instead of an arrest. You watched as they tore into a bag of chips, casually chatting as if this were just another routine night.

Lassiter ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply before turning toward his desk. He was obviously exhausted, but you could tell he wasn’t going to leave anytime soon.