8x05: The Network

***

Grant and Lucy pulled into the station parking lot just as the morning rush of uniforms and plainclothes filtered in through the glass doors. Lucy was still leaning back in the passenger seat, eyes half-lidded, finishing a careful swipe of mascara in the visor mirror.

"There are so many things I love about living with you and being engaged to you," she said, snapping the compact shut and tossing it into her bag. "But carpooling? Top tier. I get an extra half hour of sleep and a mobile glam station."

Grant cut the engine and glanced at her, smug. "You weren't sleeping this morning."

Lucy shot him a warning look. "Don't look so pleased."

"Why not?" he asked mildly. "It was pleasing."

She rolled her eyes but couldn't quite fight the smile tugging at her mouth.

They stepped out of the car just as a small parade of domestic bliss unfolded around them. Celina climbed out of the passenger seat of Miles' car at the same time Hunter stepped down from Tim's truck.

Celina and Hunter grinned at Lucy in eerie synchronization. "Isn't carpooling great?"

Lucy laughed. "I was just saying that."

Miles adjusted his uniform and nodded respectfully toward Grant and Tim. "Sir. How you doing this morning?"

"Fine," Tim replied evenly.

"I'll be better once the conversation shifts from eyeliner to assault and battery," Grant added dryly.

Lucy gasped theatrically. "Excuse you. We were practicing judo throws in the backyard for two hours last night. Your man card is fully punched."

Miles' attention shifted as the low, aggressive purr of a Lamborghini engine cut through the lot. The sleek car rolled in like it owned the asphalt.

"Now that's a car," Miles muttered.

Celina brightened. "That's Aaron."

The driver's door lifted, and Aaron Thorsen stepped out, sunglasses on, grin already in place. "What's up?"

Celina hurried over and wrapped him in a hug. "Hey!"

Tim leaned slightly toward Miles. "Thorsen's family's loaded."

"Aww," Aaron called back, clearly having heard him.

Lucy waved. "Hey."

"Despite that," Tim continued, "he's become a half-decent cop."

Aaron pointed at him. "I heard that. You think I'm half-decent, Sergeant."

Lucy laughed. "Hi, Aaron."

"You got those flowers I sent you, right?" he asked.

"Yes," Lucy admitted. "They were lovely. Also... excessive."

"No, no, no. You deserved them for acing the exam." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Also heard you scored higher than Sergeant Bradford and Sergeant Lawrence."

Grant folded his arms. "That's not the point. And word of advice? When you buy out half the florist, you make a boyfriend look bad."

Aaron grinned. "Go big or go home, right? And congrats on the engagement."

He turned to Hunter next, softening. "Congrats on the wedding, Mrs. Bradford. I was bummed I couldn't go."

Hunter stepped forward and hugged him. "I was bummed too. But new station, new rules, I guess."

"And congrats on baby number two," Aaron added.

Tim reached out to shake his hand. "Thank you."

Aaron nodded toward Miles. "You gotta be Texas."

"Yes, sir. Miles Penn."

"Aaron," he corrected easily. "You almost done with FTO?"

"Graduate next month."

Tim gave a noncommittal hum. "We'll see about that."

Hunter nudged Miles lightly. "Don't listen to him." Then to Aaron, "So what are you doing here?"

"Oh, uh, Grey wanted to talk to me about joining the Monica Task Force."

Celina's eyes lit up. "That's so cool!"

"Yeah," Aaron said, trying—and failing—to look casual about it.

Tim tilted his head. "Probably because you party in the same big-money-but-despicable universe as half the elite criminals in L.A."

Aaron smirked. "I like to think it's because he respects my work."

Grant arched a brow. "And?"

Aaron shrugged. "Could be both."

The group lingered for a moment in the easy hum of morning banter—partners, spouses, friends—before the reality of the shift ahead settled in. One by one, they turned toward the station doors, laughter fading into focus as the workday began.

***

The automatic doors to County General burst open as paramedics rushed a gurney through the ER bay.

"Thoracic trauma," the EMT called out, keeping pace beside the patient. "GSW below the right clavicle. BP's 150 over 99."

Dr. Walker was already moving, snapping on gloves as the gurney rolled past. "No exit wound?" he asked sharply.

"Negative."

"Advise trauma surgery we've got a penetrating subclavicular GSW. OR three," Walker ordered without breaking stride.

A second gurney followed close behind.

"BP's 145 over 95," Nurse Morgan said. "You want nicardipine for both?"

"Yes. Let's get her to OR four," Walker replied, already pivoting toward the elevators.

The controlled chaos swallowed the deputies as they were wheeled away, the doors swinging shut behind them.

Hunter, Nyla, and Angela stepped aside just in time, nearly colliding with Nolan and Miles as the med team cleared the hall.

Hunter's eyes tracked the disappearing gurneys. "What happened?"

Nolan scrubbed a hand over his face, still riding the adrenaline. "CI named Salvador Arroyo attacked two sheriff's deputies. Just snapped. Opened fire."

Angela's expression darkened immediately. "Arroyo? Yeah, I know him. Used to run with La Pesadilla."

"They kicked him out," Nolan added. "Apparently for being unstable."

Miles blinked. "Too crazy for a narco gang? That's... impressive."

"Or terrifying," Nyla muttered. She shifted her weight. "Any idea why he decided to shoot cops?"

Nolan shook his head. "Deputies said it came out of nowhere."

"Lucy and Celina stay back at the scene?" Hunter asked.

"Yes, ma'am," Miles replied quickly. "They're waiting on TID."

"Good," Hunter said. "Reach out to gang unit. Make sure we've got Arroyo's current address on file. I want him off the street yesterday."

"Yes, ma'am."

Miles nodded and headed off with Nolan, already pulling out his phone to make calls.

Angela watched them go before glancing at Nyla, who had gone unusually quiet. Nyla was staring down at her phone, jaw tightening.

"Everything okay?" Angela asked carefully.

"No," Nyla said flatly.

Hunter angled closer. "What's wrong?"

"A mom from Lila's school just texted me, 'Congrats on having a certified kidfluencer.'"

Hunter frowned. "What the hell is a kidfluencer?"

Nyla's thumb moved across the screen. "Hell if I know." She paused. Then her eyes widened. "Oh. Oh, you have got to be kidding me."

Angela leaned in. "What?"

"It seems my daughter," Nyla said through clenched teeth, "has a secret ClipTalk account. And it just hit a quarter million followers."

Angela blinked. "A quarter million?"

Hunter let out a low whistle. "Well. That escalated."

"I thought you said she was terrified to present in front of her class this morning," Angela said.

"She was," Nyla replied, disbelief and irritation mixing in equal measure. "Couldn't even do a book report without shaking."

Hunter tilted her head. "Guess she's not an introvert."

Nyla gave her a look that promised future grounding, confiscated electronics, and possibly a lifetime ban from Wi-Fi. "Oh, she's about to be."

She turned on her heel and stormed toward the exit, already dialing.

Angela and Hunter exchanged a glance—half amusement, half sympathy—before moving after her.

"Think we should warn Lila?" Hunter murmured.

Angela smirked. "Nope. Let Harper handle her viral sensation."

They quickened their pace to catch up, the hum of the ER fading behind them as the next crisis—this one domestic—waited outside.

***

The cemetery was quiet in the way only cemeteries could be—wind brushing through dry grass, the faint hum of traffic somewhere beyond the stone walls, the weight of names carved into marble.

Nolan and Miles moved slowly between the rows of headstones, trying not to look like cops casing a graveyard. Their radios crackled softly in their ears.

Across the grounds, Nyla, Hunter, and Angela stood near a random grave they'd chosen as cover, a small bouquet of grocery-store flowers resting against the stone to sell the image. From a distance, they looked like three women paying respects.

Angela kept her voice low as she spoke over the comms. "According to gang unit, the only person Salvador Arroyo ever loved was his mother. She died six months ago. He visits every Wednesday."

Nolan adjusted his stance, scanning ahead. "Adam-15, we've got a possible headed to the Arroyo gravesite."

Hunter's eyes locked onto a familiar figure kneeling several rows over. "We got him."

Arroyo stood in front of a polished headstone, head bowed, murmuring in Spanish. Even from a distance, there was something unsettling about the calm in his posture.

Miles leaned closer to Nolan. "Explain something to me. Why ambush two cops on the same day you have a standing appointment with your mom's grave?"

Nolan didn't take his eyes off the suspect. "Poor executive function skills? Who knows why psychopaths do anything?"

Miles huffed. "Fair enough. Then answer me this—given the guy's a psycho who just shot two deputies, why don't we have SWAT charging him right now?"

Angela's voice came over the line, cool and steady. "Because we take care of our own business."

"And," Nyla added, "the element of surprise beats overwhelming force more often than not."

Nolan smirked faintly. "Ever tried to hide a SWAT team in a cemetery?"

They moved in.

"Police!" Angela shouted, stepping forward with her weapon trained. "Get down on your stomach. Arms and legs spread. I said get down!"

Arroyo turned slowly, irritation flickering across his face. "Yeah, I heard you," he said, voice lazy. "But I'm not in the mood. This is sacred time. You got no right jamming me up here."

Hunter advanced a step. "What you did earlier made this necessary."

Arroyo scoffed. "All I did today was bump some uglies and eat some cereal. Not necessarily in that order."

Nyla's patience evaporated. "Last chance. On the ground. Or we will take you down."

Arroyo's gaze shifted past them, a smirk tugging at his mouth. "Looks like you aren't the only ones with backup."

The low rumble of engines rolled across the cemetery like distant thunder.

Motorcycles.

Tim's voice crackled over the radio. "Patrol, send three additional units to my location. Code 3."

Several bikers rolled in between the rows, cutting engines but not the tension. Leather vests. Hard stares.

One of them nodded toward Nolan. "We got a problem?"

"Not if you get back on your bikes," Nolan replied evenly.

Another biker grinned. "And miss the fun of fighting cops?"

Tim stepped into view from the opposite side, jaw set, weapon up. "Seriously. You don't want to do that."

Arroyo spread his arms slightly, like he was welcoming chaos. "I don't know what you're all worked up about. But today is not the day to mess with me. So either pack it up and get out of here... or we're gonna brawl."

He didn't wait for an answer.

One of the bikers lunged.

The cemetery exploded into motion.

Tim dropped the first man with a clean, brutal takedown, pivoting immediately to intercept another who came at him from the side. Nolan drove his shoulder into a biker's midsection, sending both of them crashing into the grass between two headstones. Miles, faster than he looked, swept a leg and sent another attacker sprawling before cuffing him with sharp efficiency.

Angela and Hunter worked in tandem, controlling one suspect while Nyla pivoted to disarm another who'd reached for something tucked into his vest.

Grunts. Shouts. The dull thud of bodies hitting turf.

And in the middle of it all, Arroyo ran.

"Arroyo's moving!" Miles yelled.

Nolan shoved his opponent off and took off after him. "Adam-15 in foot pursuit!"

Miles was right behind him.

Behind them, Tim planted another biker into the ground and snapped cuffs onto his wrists, scanning for his people. Angela and Nyla were securing their suspects. Hunter had just finished cuffing a man who'd tried—and failed—to tackle her.

Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder.

But ahead, weaving between the graves, Salvador Arroyo sprinted toward the far gate.

And Nolan and Miles were closing in.

***

The interrogation room felt smaller than it was.

Salvador Arroyo lounged in his chair like he was at a bar instead of in custody for shooting two sheriff's deputies. His wrists were cuffed to the metal ring on the table, but his posture was loose, almost bored.

Across from him sat Angela. Hunter leaned back against the wall to his right, arms folded. Nyla stood near the mirrored glass, watching him like a predator assessing weak points.

Angela's voice was calm, controlled. "It's a simple question. Where were you this morning between nine and ten?"

Arroyo rolled his eyes. "I told you."

Hunter pushed off the wall slightly. "Uglies and cereal, right?" she said dryly. "Will your girlfriend attest to that?"

A flicker of irritation crossed his face. "Wasn't my girlfriend I was with. You start asking questions about her, my life gets messy."

Nyla didn't blink. "You're facing two counts of attempted murder. A jealous boyfriend is the least of your problems."

Arroyo leaned forward, chains rattling softly. "Clearly, I'm not the guy you're looking for. 'Cause I don't attempt murder." A crooked smile spread across his face. "I get it done. So whoever you're hunting? It ain't me."

Angela's pen paused over her notepad. She glanced up slowly. "Let's put a pin in that admission."

Hunter's jaw tightened.

Angela continued evenly, "We have two witnesses who place you on South Meyer Street at the time of the shooting."

"They're lying."

"They're cops," Hunter shot back.

Arroyo barked a humorless laugh. "You think that absolves them? Hell, cops lie more than most of the criminals I know." He tilted his head. "And who are these two saints saying I'm the shooter?"

Nyla stepped forward. "Ian Coleman and Colleen White. They're in surgery right now. Removing the bullets you put in them."

Arroyo's expression shifted—not to guilt, but calculation. "Didn't happen. I haven't seen Coleman in a minute." He shrugged lazily. "But it doesn't surprise me he's trying to pin this on me."

Angela's eyes sharpened. "Why would he do that?"

"I'm not saying he's dirty," Arroyo said, voice dropping into something almost conspiratorial. "But he ain't clean."

Hunter stilled.

"Gotta be covering up some bad business he got into," Arroyo continued, watching for a reaction. "Maybe with Little Miss Rookie."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

Angela's voice went flat. "What does that mean?"

Arroyo leaned back again, enjoying himself now. "He likes to get the young, cute rookies under his wing. Take them down to that green motel off Ocean Park." He smirked. "And from the looks of it? Colleen seemed real eager to play along."

Silence.

Hunter's stare could have cut steel. Nyla's expression didn't change—but something dangerous flickered behind her eyes.

Angela closed her notebook with deliberate calm.

"You're done," she said quietly.

Arroyo just smiled.

But the detectives didn't look rattled.

They looked like they'd just found a new angle.

***

The bullpen hummed with its usual low-grade chaos—phones ringing, keyboards clacking, detectives moving with coffee in one hand and case files in the other.

Angela, Nyla, and Hunter stood clustered around a desk, reviewing notes from Arroyo's interrogation when Celina and Lucy approached, followed by a TID agent carrying a slim evidence folder.

Celina didn't waste time.

"Guys," she said, slightly breathless but steady. "Arroyo didn't ambush them."

Angela looked up first, brows knitting. "How do you know?"

The TID agent stepped forward, calm and clinical. "We don't know," he clarified carefully. "But the physical evidence aligns with Officer Juarez's assessment. There's nothing at the scene to support the deputies' claim of a second shooter."

Hunter's arms crossed automatically. "Explain."

"The only shell casings recovered," the agent continued, opening the folder, "were consistent with the two firearms issued to Deputies Coleman and White."

Lucy nodded, picking up the thread. "Right. And it's highly unlikely Arroyo just happened to be carrying a police-issued Glock or an old-school revolver."

Nyla tilted her head slightly. "He could've picked up his brass," she said. "Which, I admit, seems out of character."

"And it's not supported by the physical evidence," the TID agent replied. "The number of recovered shell casings matches exactly the number of rounds discharged from the deputies' weapons."

Angela's expression shifted—from skepticism to calculation.

Hunter leaned forward slightly. "You think they shot each other," she said slowly, "and then made up a story about an ambush?"

The TID agent nodded once. "Blood evidence shows they were shot approximately twenty feet apart."

Celina stepped closer, more confident now. "And the blood spatter angle only makes sense if they were facing each other."

Hunter frowned. "Okay, but from what I remember, Colleen was found just a few feet from Coleman."

Lucy exhaled, thinking it through as she spoke. "I think they argued. It escalated. Maybe she jumped out of the car first. He follows her into the building—leaves the door open."

Celina nodded along. "Yeah."

Lucy continued, voice gaining momentum. "Inside, things spiral. Shots fired. They're both hit. They take cover. Then they hear sirens."

Angela's jaw tightened.

Lucy finished, "So they call a truce and settle on a story."

Hunter's eyes darkened as the pieces locked into place. "They pick Arroyo," she said. "A criminal Coleman already had history with. They force us into a confrontation, hoping we'd kill him."

Silence settled over the group.

"Which would conveniently end all the questions," Hunter finished grimly. "Great."

Angela closed the file in front of her with deliberate calm.

"Looks like we're going to the hospital," she said.

Nyla checked her watch. "Right after we pick up a preteen from middle school and put the fear of God in her."

Hunter gave a sharp nod. "Copy that."

The three detectives moved in sync, purpose in every step as they walked out of the bullpen.

Behind them, Lucy and Celina exchanged a look.

The case had just flipped on its head.

***

Tim found Lucy, Celina, and Grant near the report-writing stations, heads bent over paperwork that looked suspiciously untouched.

"You three busy?" Tim asked, stopping in front of them.

Lucy glanced up first, immediately wary. "Depends," she said. "What are we volunteering for?"

Tim didn't answer—just gave her that faintly amused, completely unhelpful look that meant yes, absolutely, you're volunteering.

—

A short while later, they were seated at a cluster of folding tables in one of the larger briefing rooms. The atmosphere had shifted from casual to charged. Around them sat Nolan, Miles, Aaron Thorsen, and several other officers. Sergeant Grey stood near the front beside Agent Garza. Elena Flores stood off to the side with a tablet in hand.

Garza clapped once to get everyone's attention.

"Okay, listen up. This is a classic good news, bad news situation." He paced slowly as he spoke. "The good news is that thanks to the digital prowess of Agent Flores—" he gestured toward Elena, "—and the silky-smooth persuasion skills of Officer Thorsen—"

Aaron gave a modest nod that fooled absolutely no one.

"—we've isolated the unique frequency signatures of an encrypted phone network used by the top point-one percent of elite criminals operating in the region."

A low murmur rolled through the room.

Elena stepped forward, tapping her tablet. "The bad news," she said, projecting a satellite image onto the screen behind them, "is that the highest concentration of those frequencies—indicating the physical location of the server farm controlling the network—was traced to here."

The image zoomed in.

The LA River.

There were a few confused looks.

Grey folded his arms. "Now, clearly there isn't a visible server farm sitting in the middle of the river. Which means what, Officer Nolan?"

Nolan leaned back slightly, eyes on the screen. "It means the servers are underground," he said. "Excavated and built in secret. They're probably using one of the surrounding buildings as an access point. Most likely a warehouse."

Garza nodded. "How big of a construction project are we talking?"

"Massive," Nolan replied without hesitation. "And massively expensive. Whoever built it probably brought in one of the cartel's tunnel specialists from Mexico. Someone who knows how to move dirt without anyone noticing."

Garza exchanged a look with Grey. "And if you were pulling off something like that?"

Nolan leaned forward now, engaged. "I'd pick a location that already deals in construction equipment. Somewhere trucks coming and going wouldn't raise suspicion."

Garza snapped his fingers lightly. "Right. Bingo. Give this man a raise."

A few chuckles rippled through the room.

Nolan didn't miss a beat. "I'd settle for a spot on the team. Since you're obviously going in."

Garza's expression shifted—approving, but firm. "Yes. We are going in. But not to raid the place." He let that settle. "We need to be ghosts. Quiet entry. Plant malware directly into the server hardware. Tap the network. And then we get out without leaving so much as a footprint."

The room went still. This wasn't smash-and-grab. This was surgical.

Nolan nodded slowly. "Without blueprints," he said, "your entry team's flying blind."

Grey stepped forward, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Welcome to the op."

Around the tables, posture straightened. Lucy shot Tim a look that said, this is why you didn't answer earlier.

Tim just looked forward, calm as ever.

***

The air outside the warehouse felt thick—too still for a building that was supposed to house nothing more than construction equipment.

Grant adjusted the straps on his vest while Lucy and Celina stood beside him, all three of them keyed up and waiting. Tim stood a few feet away, scanning the perimeter like he could will the walls to confess their secrets.

Then his phone rang.

Everyone froze.

Tim answered immediately. "Bradford."

He listened for two seconds. His posture shifted.

"Yeah," he said. "Change of plans. We're going in. Weapons up."

Lucy didn't hesitate. She relayed it down the line to Celina automatically. "Change of plans. We're going in."

The quiet tension shattered into movement.

Weapons were drawn. They advanced toward the warehouse doors, boots hitting concrete in controlled rhythm.

"Police!" Tim's voice boomed as they breached. "Show us your hands!"

The response wasn't compliance.

A deafening blast ripped through the interior as a vent near the ceiling exploded outward in a spray of metal and dust. Debris rained down, and someone shouted from inside.

"Start climbing!" Nolan's voice echoed from above.

Inside, chaos reigned. The entry team had already pushed deeper into the structure, following the concealed access point down toward the underground server farm. Smoke curled through the air. Somewhere, someone groaned.

"I'm good! I'm good!" Walker's voice came through, strained but conscious.

Nolan's voice cut through again, sharp and urgent. "We gotta call it in—let them know where we are!"

Static answered him.

Elena Flores' voice crackled faintly over the comms. "Boss, Alpha Team is in the warehouse. Uncle Mike—" A burst of interference swallowed the rest. "Comms are down."

The line went dead.

Nolan swore under his breath. "We gotta move. Leave her there. We'll get EMTs once we secure the scene. Mike, you take point. Let's move!"

Gunfire erupted from deeper in the structure.

"Get him out of here!" Nolan shouted. "We'll cover you!"

Aaron's voice came sharp with adrenaline. "We can't stay here!"

"Drop back!" Nolan ordered. "Help the others get out. I'll hold them off as long as I can."

"You sure?" Aaron demanded.

"Yeah!" Nolan fired off another round, bracing against a concrete pillar. "Go! Go! I'm right behind you!"

Outside, Tim and the perimeter team pushed in from the opposite side, clearing rooms methodically. Grant and Lucy moved like a unit, Celina tight on their flank. The gunfire slowed. Then stopped.

Minutes later—though it felt like hours—Garza strode into the cleared warehouse, eyes scanning for casualties.

"Where's Elena?" he demanded.

Nolan emerged from the haze, breathing hard but upright. "She took Mike to safety. He got shot."

Tim appeared from the far side, weapon lowered but still in hand. "Warehouse is secure."

The words settled over the space like a held breath finally released.

Nolan exhaled, shoulders sagging just slightly. "Oh. Thank you."

Garza studied him carefully. "You good?"

Nolan gave a short nod. "Yeah."

It wasn't entirely convincing—but he was standing. And for now, that was enough.

***

The hospital corridor was quiet in that sterile, late-afternoon way—fluorescent lights humming softly, the scent of antiseptic clinging to the air. Hunter, Nyla, and Angela approached the deputies' shared room just as a nurse stepped out, gently closing the door behind her.

"They both came through surgery with no complications," the nurse said in a low, professional tone.

Nyla gave a short nod. "That's great. Thanks."

The nurse offered a reassuring smile before walking off down the hall.

Angela stepped forward first, posture calm but unmistakably authoritative. She pushed the door open and led the way inside. The room was dim, blinds half-drawn. Machines beeped steadily on either side of the space.

Ian Coleman lay in the bed nearest the window, pale but alert, an IV snaking into his arm. Across from him, Colleen White shifted carefully against her pillows, her shoulder heavily bandaged.

Angela flashed her badge. "Hi. I'm Detective Lopez. This is Detective Harper and Detective Bradford. We've been investigating your shooting."

White's eyes sharpened. "Did you catch Arroyo?"

Coleman turned his head quickly toward her. "Where's Colleen? Is— is she okay?" His voice cracked slightly, whether from pain or something else was hard to tell.

Hunter stepped forward before Angela could answer. She didn't raise her voice, but there was steel in it.

"Let's cut the crap, shall we?" she said evenly. "Your story has holes big enough to drive a truck through. So who wants to make a deal?"

The shift in the room was immediate.

White didn't hesitate. "I do."

Coleman's head snapped toward her. "Wait." His jaw tightened. "If anyone's gonna get a deal, it's gonna be me."

Nyla folded her arms slowly, watching the fracture widen between them. Angela didn't move, didn't blink—just let the silence stretch long enough to make them feel it.

Hunter glanced between them, expression unreadable.

"Good," she said quietly. "Because only one of you is walking out of this with a career intact."

And just like that, the alliance that had survived gunfire started crumbling under fluorescent lights.

***

The waiting room looked like every hospital waiting room in the world—neutral walls, uncomfortable chairs, and a vending machine humming in the corner like it had secrets. Nolan, Elena, Aaron, Celina, Lucy, Grant, and Tim sat in a row that could've passed for the world's most exhausted lineup.

Tim and Grant were the least banged up of the group, which wasn't saying much. Both had minor scrapes and bruises, vests tossed over the backs of their chairs. They sat shoulder to shoulder, flipping through a months-old automotive magazine like it was the most fascinating thing on earth.

Grant turned a page. "You thinking about trading in the truck?"

Tim didn't look up. "No."

"Me neither."

A few seats down, Nolan shifted carefully in his chair, wincing as he adjusted his arm. Elena sat beside him, one hand resting lightly on his sleeve, her own face drawn tight with fatigue.

Garza stepped into the waiting room, still in tactical gear, though the edge had worn off him. He looked at the group and gave a small nod.

"They just took Mike into surgery," he said. "Surgeon's confident he's gonna pull through just fine, so..."

Elena let out a breath she'd clearly been holding for an hour. "Thank God."

"Yeah," Garza agreed quietly.

Nolan leaned forward, pressing his hands to his thighs as if preparing for battle. "Well, I, for one, am not certain I can get up without making a sound unbecoming a law enforcement officer."

Aaron immediately straightened. "Why don't I go first? I'll give you some cover."

Nolan shot him a grateful look. "Hey. You're a good man."

Aaron stood—and instantly regretted it. "Oh. Ow."

Nolan winced in sympathy. "Oh, man."

One by one, the rest of them rose more carefully than they'd ever admit on a report. Celina muttered something under her breath as her shoulder protested. Lucy rolled her neck stiffly. Grant folded the magazine and set it aside with a grunt that he pretended was just clearing his throat. Tim stood last, steady and quiet, though the tightness in his jaw betrayed the ache settling into his ribs.

Across the hall, a door clicked open.

Nyla, Angela, and Hunter stepped out of the deputies' room, their expressions all business. There was no humor in it, no relief—just the sharp focus of detectives who'd just cracked something open.

Hunter spotted Tim immediately.

Without a word to the others, she crossed the waiting room toward him. Her shoulders softened the second she reached him.

"You good?" she asked quietly, eyes scanning him automatically for anything she might've missed.

Tim gave the faintest nod. "I'm fine."

She studied him for half a second longer, unconvinced but choosing her battles. "Mike's gonna make it."

"I heard." A beat. "You?"

Her mouth twitched. "Deputies are talking. Not together."

Tim's eyebrows lifted slightly. "That didn't take long."

"They're tripping over each other to make a deal."

He huffed softly. "Nothing strengthens a partnership like attempted murder."

Hunter's lips curved faintly at that. For a second, they just stood there in the fluorescent quiet, close but not touching—too many eyes around, too much adrenaline still buzzing through the room.

Behind them, Nolan groaned dramatically as he straightened up. "I would just like the record to show," he announced, "that I am absolutely too old for this."

Aaron nodded stiffly. "Seconded."

Celina gave Lucy a look. "We're definitely ordering takeout tonight."

Lucy smiled. "Somewhere that delivers ice packs."

Tim finally glanced down at Hunter again. "Let's get everyone home," he said.

Hunter nodded.

For now, they'd take the win. Mike was alive. The truth was unraveling. And everyone in that waiting room—bruised, sore, exhausted—had walked away.

***

By the time Hunter and Tim pulled into the driveway, the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that only comes after adrenaline had settled into their limbs. Not dramatic. Not sharp. Just heavy.

The porch light was on.

Hunter noticed it first. "Lexi."

Tim nodded once, already unbuckling. "Figured."

Inside, the house was quiet—but not asleep.

Lexi was on the couch, one leg tucked under her, scrolling on her phone with the volume low on whatever animated movie was playing on the TV. The second the front door opened, she looked up.

And then she smiled in that way that tried to be casual and failed completely.

"They're fine," she said immediately, standing. "Before you say anything."

Hope was curled up on the other end of the couch, very much awake, very much pretending she hadn't been staring at the door for the past twenty minutes. Antonio was in Lexi's arms, fighting sleep with the stubbornness of someone personally offended by bedtime.

Hope slid off the couch the second she saw them. "You're late."

Hunter crouched automatically, ignoring the protest in her knees, and opened her arms. Hope collided into her like she'd been holding that in all evening.

"We had work," Hunter said softly into her daughter's hair.

"I know." Hope's voice was small but steady. "Lexi told me."

Antonio made a soft noise and leaned toward Tim the second he saw him. Tim stepped forward, taking him carefully, one arm secure and familiar.

"Hey, buddy," Tim murmured.

Antonio grabbed a fistful of Tim's shirt like he was anchoring himself to shore. He'd clearly been overtired for a while—eyes glassy, cheeks flushed—but the second he was in his dad's arms, he settled just enough.

"He refused," Lexi said quietly. "Both of them. Hope said she was 'waiting for confirmation.' Antonio just... staged a protest."

Tim huffed lightly. "That tracks."

Hunter pulled back just enough to look at Hope. "You were supposed to be in bed."

Hope crossed her arms. "I was worried."

There it was. No dramatics. Just honesty.

Hunter's expression softened completely. "We're okay."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

Tim shifted Antonio slightly and met Hope's eyes over Hunter's shoulder. "We're not that easy to get rid of."

That earned the faintest smile.

Lexi stepped closer, studying both Hunter and Tim properly now. "You guys look like hell."

"Thank you," Hunter replied dryly.

"Mike's in surgery," Tim added. "He's going to pull through."

Lexi nodded, relief flashing across her face. "Good."

Antonio finally gave up the fight against sleep, his head dropping against Tim's shoulder. Tim adjusted his hold instinctively, voice lowering.

"Alright. Revolution's over."

Hunter stood, brushing a hand over Hope's hair. "Teeth. Bed. Now."

Hope hesitated for half a second—just to make a point—then nodded and padded down the hallway.

Lexi exhaled once the house shifted back toward normal. "I can stay if you need—"

"We're good," Hunter said gently. "Thank you."

Tim nodded his agreement. "Seriously."

Lexi squeezed Hunter's arm briefly. "Call me if you change your mind."

After she left, the house finally felt like theirs again. Quiet. Safe.

Tim carried Antonio down the hallway, Hunter following after checking on Hope—who was already under the covers, eyes heavy now that the waiting was over.

In the nursery, Tim laid Antonio down carefully. The baby stirred, then settled, small fist still curled.

They stood there for a moment, just watching him breathe.

Hunter leaned lightly into Tim's side. "You okay?"

He didn't answer right away.

"Yeah," he said finally. "Just... tired."

She nodded. "Me too."

They moved back down the hall, turning off lights as they went. The adrenaline was gone now. The house was dim. The world had narrowed to the four walls, the soft hum of the monitor, the steady rhythm of their kids sleeping.

In the living room, Hunter sank onto the couch with a slow exhale.

Tim joined her, close enough that their knees touched.

For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.

Then Hunter reached over and laced her fingers through his.

"We're okay," she said quietly.

Tim squeezed her hand once.

"Yeah," he agreed. "We are."

And for tonight, that was enough.

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Author's Note:

I loved seeing Aaron again after so long. It felt right having him back in the mix, and I really hope we see more of him this season. It seems likely, but still—fingers crossed.

Also, Lila has gotten so much older. But to be fair, it has been a while since we last saw her, so it tracks. Still wild, though.

Now—onto the important part.

Below is a poll about whether Grant and Lucy should have a child.

They've been together since Season 4, which—based on the timeline—would be around 2022. Since Season 8 takes place in 2026 (and Season 7 in 2025), that puts them at roughly four years together. That's solid. Engagement, long-term relationship, stable careers—it's not a wild idea.

That said, I'm hesitant to make Lucy pregnant in Season 8 since she and Grant just got engaged. I do want them to have a kid eventually, but I'm wondering if it might feel rushed. Part of me wants to wait and see if the show gets renewed for Season 9 so there's more breathing room to develop that storyline properly.

Also, can we talk about how confusing the timeline is? Seasons 1–3 somehow cover a single year that starts in 2019 and ends in 2021. Make it make sense.

Anyway—poll below. Let me know what you think.

Random birthday notes (because I love continuity):

Hunter Bradford — March 8, 1983

Tim Bradford — April 1983 (yes, he's about a month younger than Hunter, as mentioned in Book One)

Grant Lawrence — January 7, 1983 (same birthday as Brett Dalton, his face claim)

Lucy Chen — March 23, 1988 (BTS from the Wildfire episode in Season 7)

But again—the poll is the main event. Let me know your thoughts.