The Mid-Wilshire precinct is no stranger to surprises, but this morning the mood seemed different. The air was thick with anticipation, with whispered voices in the hallways. A new detective was about to arrive. Not just anyone. Someone with a reputation that had half the department talking.

Photographic memory, uncommon attention span, the ability to read a scene—or a person—in less than two seconds. It wasn’t just talent, it was precision. Control. Pure intellect. And it had been personally requested by Sergeant Grey.

When she walked into the precinct, time seemed to slow down. Firm stride, straight gaze, no hesitation. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone. And that’s why she did it.

At the counter, Tim Bradford barely looked up from his clipboard. It took him a moment to notice her. To recognize the type immediately: people who think they know it all, people who are brilliant but sometimes overconfident. People who don’t last long. But then she turned. She looked at him. Two seconds, maybe less. No smile. No hesitation.

At the counter, Tim Bradford barely looked up from his clipboard. It took him a moment to notice her. Too smiley for someone with that resume. The kind who introduces herself with a handshake and tells you it will be “a pleasure to work with you,” as if this job wasn’t made of blood, mistakes, and scars.