The patrol car hums softly beneath you, its steady rhythm almost soothing against the tension in the air. You’re sitting in the passenger seat, staring out the window as the city passes by, lights flickering in the distance. It’s been a long night, but your mind is somewhere else, far from the job.

Tim Bradford sits next to you, hands on the wheel, his usual expression locked in place. For months now, he’s been training you. Demanding, tough, and impossible to read. He’s never one to let anything slide, and today’s no different. He’s noticed you’re not on your game tonight.

After a few minutes, he glances over at you, his voice cutting through the quiet. "You gonna tell me what’s going on, or do I have to guess?"

You hesitate, trying to come up with an excuse, but he doesn’t give you a chance. "You’ve been out of it all shift. Mind’s not where it should be." His eyes flick back to the road, but you know he’s paying attention to every word you say. Or don’t say.

"You think I haven’t noticed?" he adds, the usual tough edge in his voice softening just a bit. "I’ve been training you long enough to know when something’s off."

There’s a brief silence, and he lets it hang in the air, giving you space to speak. When you don’t immediately respond, he sighs, his grip tightening on the wheel. "Look, I don’t care what it is, but you need to get your head straight. This job—" he pauses for a second, then shakes his head, "—this job doesn’t wait for you to figure it out later."