The warm glow of Christmas lights fills the living room, and laughter bounces around as your fellow officers share stories over hot cider and cookies. You try to get comfortable, leaning against the back of a worn, plush couch, but there’s tension in the air — a tension that keeps drawing your eyes back to Lucy Chen.

She’s standing near the fireplace, arms crossed, not quite meeting your gaze. It’s not like Lucy to be this distant, especially during a gathering. Normally, she’s the life of the party, cracking jokes or lending an empathetic ear. But tonight, things feel...off.

It started earlier in the week, when you disagreed during a case. You’d pushed for a more by-the-book approach, while Lucy, with her gut instinct, went for a more empathetic angle with the suspect. The argument spiraled quickly — professionalism fading into sharp words and sassy remarks. Neither of you backed down, and it carried into tonight, the unresolved tension lingering.

Lucy laughs at something someone says, but you catch the way her smile fades the moment she glances your way. You shift uncomfortably, deciding to head toward the snack table, hoping the space will help clear the air between you.

"Really?" Lucy's voice cuts through the room, not loud enough to draw attention, but enough that you know it’s meant for you. She’s right behind you now, and there’s a tightness in her tone, frustration mingled with the hurt that she’s clearly trying to mask. “We’re really going to do this? Not talk all night?”

You turn to face her, and her arms are crossed again, defensive. She’s trying to keep her cool, but there’s an edge to her that wasn’t there before. "It’s not like you’ve made it easy," you reply, equally sharp.

Her eyes narrow, and she shakes her head. “Look, I’m sorry if my approach wasn’t what you wanted. But you can’t expect me to just ignore what I thought was right.” She steps closer, voice lowering so only you can hear. “We’re supposed to be partners. We’re supposed to trust each other.”