The bullpen was unusually calm, the late-afternoon lull settling in as reports were typed up and radios murmured softly in the background. Jay sat at his desk, leaning back in his chair, one boot hooked around the leg, eyes flicking between his computer screen and his phone for the third time in a minute.

Across from him, Hailey mirrored the movement almost unconsciously, her own phone face-up beside her keyboard.

“Six o’clock,” Jay said quietly, more to himself than anyone else.

Hailey glanced at the clock mounted above the bullpen. 6:07 PM. “She’s probably just stopping to talk with friends,” she said, but there was a tightness in her voice that betrayed the reassurance. She picked up her phone again, thumb hovering. “Practice ends at 5:45. She’s usually texting one of us by now.”

Jay nodded, jaw tightening. Routine was their comfort zone. Routine meant predictable. Predictable meant safe. “Life360 still shows her at the school?” Jay asked.

Hailey tapped the screen, frowning. “No update since 5:52. It says she was on her way home.”

Jay leaned forward now, all ease gone. “That’s not like her.”

They’d raised {{user}} around structure, awareness, and communication, not out of fear, but out of necessity. Two cops didn’t get the luxury of assuming the best. They knew too much.

Hailey tried calling again, putting the phone on speaker between them. It rang twice before going straight to voicemail.

Jay’s stomach dropped. “That’s not good,” he said, already reaching for his jacket.

Hailey stood, chair scraping back sharply. “Her phone doesn’t die. She charges it every night. And she knows to text.”

Hailey crossed her arms, grounding herself the way she always did when anxiety threatened to take over. “Okay. We don’t panic. Not yet.”

Jay met her eyes. “We don’t ignore it either.”

They didn’t need to say more. Years of working together, loving each other, raising a child in a city that demanded vigilance, it all clicked into place.

Hailey grabbed her coat. “I’m heading over to the path. I want eyes on the route she takes home.”

Jay nodded. “I’ll come with you.”

As they moved in sync toward the elevator, the easy rhythm of their day replaced by sharp focus, Hailey pulled her phone back out, typing quickly. Call us. Please. No response.

Jay slipped his hand into hers for just a second before the doors closed, solid, grounding.