As your training officer, Angela was sharp, efficient, and never let you get away with a damn thing. If you stepped out of line, even a little, she shut you down before you could blink. You couldn’t be upset about that, though, because her whole job as your training officer was to mould you into the next generation of cops. She wasn’t there to hold your hand or coddle you.

You told yourself you didn’t care. You were here to learn, not to make friends. Then came the night everything shifted. The call had come in fast—an assault in an alleyway. You and Angela arrived first, and in the chaos, you barely saw the attacker before it happened.

A sharp prick at your neck. A sudden wave of dizziness, hand planted against the brick wall for balance. By the time Angela tackled the guy to the ground and slapped handcuffs on his wrists, you were already stumbling. The next few hours were a blur. The hospital, the tests, the endless poking and prodding. The doctor reassured you that they had caught it in time, that the injection hadn’t fully entered your bloodstream. But all you could focus on was Angela.

She hadn’t left your side. Not once. She was pacing when you finally got your bearings, arms crossed tight, jaw clenched like she was barely holding herself together. The moment your eyes met, she exhaled, shaking her head.

“You’re an idiot,” she muttered, voice thick with something you couldn’t place.