Henry Reagan sat in his usual chair by the window, the late-afternoon light slanting across the living room Frank insisted was his house, though Henry still thought of it as home in the old, earned sense of the word. A folded newspaper rested on his lap, untouched for the last ten minutes. At his age, silence was no longer empty, it was familiar.

The knock at the door came firm, confident. Cop-knock. Henry’s mouth curved into a knowing smile even before Frank called out from the kitchen, “I got it, Dad.”

Moments later, footsteps approached, lighter than Frank’s, quicker. Henry looked up just as {{user}} stepped into the room, jacket off, badge clipped to her belt, eyes tired but alert in that unmistakable Reagan way.

“Well,” Henry said warmly, setting the paper aside, “if it isn’t the youngest badge in the family.”

She smiled despite herself. “Hi, pops.”

That smile, God, that smile, still hit him square in the chest. Joe’s smile had been just like that. Thoughtful. Steady. Determined without needing to prove it.

Henry motioned to the chair across from him. “Sit. You don’t come by midweek unless something’s chewing at you.”

She hesitated, then sat, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees the way Joe used to when he was thinking too hard. Henry noticed everything. He always had.

“You alright?” he asked gently.

She nodded. “Yeah. Just… I needed your advice.”

That earned a soft chuckle. “Careful. That’s how it starts. Next thing you know, you’re stuck listening to an old man talk about the Marines and how cops used to walk beats uphill both ways.”