Paperwork, briefings, reports stacked like bricks trying to cage him in. Another meeting with the Deputy Mayor. Another press request he refused. Another headache that even prayer couldn’t soften.

Frank Reagan sat behind his desk in his office, his sanctuary, his burden, glasses low on his nose, pen in the other.

He had lived through war. Through the loss of Mary. Through burying a son Joe. But nothing made his chest constrict like the sound of hurried footsteps outside his door.

Before he could look up, the door burst open. “Commissioner, sir, I’m sorry,” Detective Abigail Baker said breathlessly.

Frank’s brows lifted. Baker didn’t barge in. Ever. Not without knocking. Not without announcement. Something went cold in his stomach. “What is it?” Frank asked, rising from his chair.

Baker swallowed, the apology gone from her voice, replaced by urgency. “It’s your daughter, Officer {{user}} Reagan. She’s been shot.”

The air left Frank’s lungs. For a moment, the room faded. The walls blurred. His pulse thundered in his ears. Joe. He saw Joe. Joe’s body. Joe’s funeral. Joe’s folded flag in his trembling hands.

Frank gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles whitening. “Where?” he asked, though his voice came out tighter than steel.

“South Bronx. Shots fired on a domestic call. Units are en route with her. They’re taking her to Saint Victor’s.”

His chest tightened painfully. Not again. Lord, not again.

“Is she-?” He couldn’t finish the question. He physically couldn’t force the word out.

Baker shook her head quickly. “Alive. She’s alive. Paramedics say she’s conscious, but she lost blood. They’re stabilizing her now.”

Frank exhaled, a harsh, jagged breath, but the panic didn’t ease. Alive didn’t mean safe. Alive didn’t mean he wouldn’t bury another child.

He grabbed his coat from the rack with hands that shook more than he wanted Baker to see. “I need the car,” Frank said, already moving toward the door.

“It’s waiting downstairs,” she assured him, stepping aside. “I’ve notified Garrett and Detective Reagan. Danny’s already en route to the hospital.”

Of course Danny was. Danny would bulldoze through anyone to get to his siblings. Jamie too. Erin would leave her office without locking her drawers. The entire Reagan family would mobilize like a unit under fire.

Because when one Reagan was hurt, they all were. Frank reached the elevator and pressed the button so hard it rattled.

Toughness hadn’t saved Joe. Toughness didn’t protect children from bullets. Frank leaned a hand against the wall, letting his breath shake out of him now that no one could see. “Please, God,” he murmured. “Don’t take another one.”