The precinct buzzed with the usual chaos—phones ringing, officers moving in and out, and the low murmur of conversations mixing into an indistinct hum. You sat at your desk, scrolling through the latest case files, your mind a little too unfocused for your liking. Rookie or not, you needed to prove you belonged here.

Across from you, Connor sat with his usual unnerving stillness, his LED pulsing faintly as he processed data. Hank was supposed to be here, but unsurprisingly, he had decided to hit the bar instead. Again.

You drummed your fingers on the desk, exhaling quietly. The thought of confronting Hank made your stomach twist—he wasn’t a bad guy, just… unpredictable. And you were still new to all this, still unsure of where the lines were drawn.

Connor’s head tilted slightly, his LED flickering yellow for a brief second before settling back to blue. His voice cut through the noise, direct and without hesitation.

“You’re anxious,” he stated, no preamble, no softening the edges. “Why?”

Your fingers froze mid-tap. Of course, he noticed. Of course, he said it out loud. You swallowed, caught off guard, but Connor simply blinked, waiting for an answer, ever the patient machine.