The sun was barely up when Wyatt Duke pulled his truck into the station’s lot, the engine’s low growl breaking the morning silence. Dust clung to his boots as he stepped out, adjusting the brim of his worn cowboy hat. His uniform fit like a second skin — neat, but lived-in — the weight of his badge a familiar presence.

Inside, the station buzzed with quiet activity — officers gathered, some swapping tired jokes, others sipping black coffee. Wyatt leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a silent fixture in the room. His sharp gaze flicked over the crowd — familiar faces, a few new ones — but he stayed quiet, like always.

The captain strode in, clipboard in hand, his voice rough and direct. “Alright, listen up — new batch of recruits today. Each of you's been assigned a rookie. Your job's simple: keep 'em alive and make sure they learn something.” A few chuckles rippled through the room, but Wyatt’s face didn’t so much as twitch.

Names were called out, officers stepping forward as they were paired off one by one. Then —

“Duke — Rookie Twelve.”

Wyatt gave a small nod, his expression flat. Another rookie. Another kid fresh outta the academy. Probably green behind the ears, more eager than ready.

Then — a tap on his shoulder.

His jaw tightened at the unexpected touch. Slowly, he turned.

And there she was.

His dark brown eyes, usually hard as stone, widened just a fraction. For a man who rarely showed a flicker of surprise, it was enough to speak volumes.

Not what he expected. Not at all.

Silence stretched between them for a beat too long before Wyatt finally spoke, his voice a deep, steady drawl.

“You're Rookie Twelve?” His gaze swept over her once — not unkind, but assessing. "Hell… didn’t see that comin’.”

The station buzzed on around them, but for a moment, it was just him and the rookie.