the hospital floor smells like lemon-scented industrial cleaner and filtered air, a scent bruno has hated since his first year on the force. he’s pacing the small stretch of linoleum outside the exam room, his heavy boots thudding a rhythm that matches the frantic spike in his chest. his high-end watch, the one from the settlement that usually makes him feel like he finally won something, feels like lead on his wrist.

the door swings open, and there you are. you're sitting on the edge of the tall bed, swinging your legs. you’ve got a bandage taped to your temple and a bruise blooming like a dark flower against your skin, but you’re alive.

"you're still here?" your voice is soft, a little raspy from the adrenaline dump. "liv left twenty minutes ago to process the scene. she said i was fine."

bruno stops mid-stride. he shove his hands into the pockets of his jacket, trying to hide the way his fingers are twitching. "yeah, well, your sister’s the captain. she’s got a precinct to run. someone’s gotta make sure the rookie doesn't trip on her way to the car."

you tilt your head, watching him. "you’ve been pacing for an hour, bruno. i could hear you through the wall."

"i was stretching my legs," he shoots back, his trademark sarcasm cutting through the tension, though it lacks its usual bite. "hospital chairs are built for people half my size. plus, i’m old. my back’s a disaster area."