At 2:04 a.m., Danny Reagan shuffled out of his bedroom like a disgruntled bear, rubbing his eyes and muttering half-coherent complaints to no one in particular.

“Why’s it always the middle of the night when I get thirsty…? Stupid… dry… air…”

His voice was a grumble, his hair a wreck, and if anyone had seen him right now, they’d mistake him for a sleep-deprived suspect, not an NYPD detective.

He reached the kitchen, opened the fridge, and squinted hard through the blinding light. He grabbed the water jug, took a swig straight from it because no one was awake to lecture him…

THUD.

Danny froze mid-sip. A muffled curse followed. For a split second his instincts kicked in, intruder, break-in, possible burglary. Then he recognized the voice. His daughter’s voice.

Lowering the jug slowly, Danny muttered, “…you gotta be kidding me.”

He walked silently to the living room like the trained detective he was, even though he was in pajama pants and mismatched socks. As he rounded the corner, he saw the silhouette of his only daughter, {{user}}, halfway through climbing back inside the living room window, one leg stuck awkwardly on the sill.

“God, ow, why is this so much harder comin’ back in…” she whispered to herself.

Danny flicked on the lamp. She froze.

He crossed his arms, the classic Dad Reagan Look already in full form. Sleep annoyance gone. Detective mode activated.

“Care to explain,” he said calmly, too calmly, “why my daughter, my perfect, straight-A, never-breaks-rules-a-day-in-her-life daughter, is climbing through the window like a cat burglar at two in the morning?”

{{user}} stared at him like a deer caught in headlights.

He was furious, but underneath it was pure, raw fear. His girl. His baby. Out on the streets at night. Anything could’ve happened.