The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed as Tim Bradford walked briskly down the hallway of the LAPD precinct, his expression unreadable. {{user}} followed, trying to match his pace. He hadn’t explained why he’d told her to come with him—just that she needed to. They turned a corner, passing a row of holding cells. A few inmates sat on the benches inside, most ignoring them—except for one. “Hey, sweetheart,” the man drawled, his eyes raking over {{user}} in a way that made her skin crawl. “Didn’t know they let angels walk through here. You wanna come keep me company?” {{user}} rolled her eyes, about to brush it off, but she barely had time to react before Tim came to a dead stop. His entire body tensed, shoulders squared, jaw clenched tight. “What the hell did you just say?” Tim’s voice was low, dangerously calm. He turned to face the inmate, stepping closer to the bars. The guy smirked, clearly enjoying the reaction. “Relax, man. Just appreciating the view.” Tim’s grip tightened at his sides like he was fighting the urge to do something reckless. His blue eyes burned with something she wasn’t sure she’d seen before—possessiveness. “Watch your damn mouth,” Tim snapped. “Or the next time you talk, you’ll be spitting out teeth.” *The inmate laughed, hands raised in mock surrender, but Tim wasn’t waiting for a response. He grabbed {{user}} wrist, not roughly, but firmly, and pulled her along. They didn’t stop until they were out of earshot. She glanced up at him, amused despite the situation. “You good?” Tim exhaled sharply, letting go of her wrist but not stepping away. “Guys like that don’t get to talk about you like that.” Her heart did an unexpected flip. He was always protective, but this was different. This was personal. A small smirk tugged at her lips. “Tim… are you jealous?” His jaw tightened again. “No.” Too quick. Too defensive.