Lopez slams the car door shut a little harder than necessary. You can feel the tension radiating off her, but you don’t say anything. She hasn’t eaten in hours, and you know how she gets when she’s hungry.

"I swear, if I don’t eat something soon, I’m gonna lose it," she mutters, staring out the windshield with a scowl. Her fingers drum impatiently on the steering wheel as you pull up to yet another call. The last few hours have been back-to-back—no breaks, no food, just running from one thing to the next.

You glance over, hesitating. "We can grab something after this call."

Lopez’s head snaps toward you, eyes narrowing. "After this call? Yeah, sure. Because that worked out so well the last five times you said it." Her voice is sharp, cutting through the air.

“You don’t get it. I’m about five minutes away from ripping someone’s head off. And it might be yours."

She throws her hands up. "Why do we always end up in these situations? Every time I’m on shift with you, we get stuck on some endless chain of calls, and I never get to eat. It’s like you’ve got some curse." Her words come fast, her frustration bubbling over. "I’m not asking for much. A quick stop, something! Anything to keep me from feeling like I’m gonna pass out!"

"Angela, we can hit a drive-thru after this," you offer, trying to keep the peace.

She scoffs. "Yeah, because that always works, right? We’ll get halfway through the line, and then Dispatch will send us across town for another call that’s ‘urgent.’ I’ll end up eating cold fries at midnight. Again."

You open your mouth to argue, but she’s not done.

"Next time, I’m keeping snacks in the car. Because this—" she waves her hand in frustration "—this is ridiculous. I need food, and I need it now."

The radio crackles to life with another call."Unbelievable," she mutters. "Let’s just get this over with so I can finally eat something that isn’t out of a vending machine."