The night was heavy — the kind that presses in on your chest, making every breath a little harder to catch. The call came through like a whisper on the radio, but the weight behind it was anything but quiet. A unalive call. Someone standing on the edge, looking down into the darkness.

You’re the rookie, heart racing, trying to steady your hands, your voice. Lucy and Tim move beside you, steady anchors in the storm. Lucy’s eyes are fierce, scanning, reading every flicker of emotion in your face. Tim’s silence is a shield, his presence a quiet promise: you’re not alone.

You step forward, words catching in your throat. The world narrows to just that moment — just that person on the edge. Lucy’s voice cuts through, firm but soft. Tim’s hand brushes your back, grounding you, steadying the storm inside.

“LAPD,” Chen calls out, her voice even but gentle, projecting calm. “We’re just here to talk.” The man doesn’t look at her. Doesn’t look at you. He’s staring straight ahead, eyes glassy, like he’s already halfway gone.

Chen steps closer. “What’s your name?” Silence. She tries again, softer this time. “Whatever brought you up here — you don’t have to carry it alone. Just talk to me.”

He finally speaks. Quiet, broken. “It doesn’t matter. No one’s listening.” You glance at Lucy, a silent plea for her to hand the call to you. Lucy gives you an up and down look, sizing you up to see if you were ready for it. She looks to Tim, who gives her a curt nod. As long as they stay close to you.

Lucy nodded with a look of permission and trust.