The phone rang, its sharp trill cutting through the low hum of the dispatch center. Conrad's fingers hovered over the receiver for a split second, a practiced pause to steady his nerves.

He exhaled slowly, just another moment of calm before the storm. The steady buzz of other operators filled the air around him, but in this instant, it all seemed to fade into the background. He glanced at the blinking red light on the call board, the urgent, flashing number calling him into action.

With a practiced motion, he slid the headset on, adjusting it to fit snugly over his ear. The cool plastic of the microphone brushed against his cheek. His eyes flickered briefly to the screen—nothing yet. The system hadn’t even populated the call details.

Another ring. His hand moved instinctively, and he clicked the button, his voice smooth, steady, and professional.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

But even as the words left his mouth, something in the air shifted. A tension, a sense of foreboding that always crawled in the back of his mind when he knew a critical moment was approaching.

The line hummed, waiting for a response.