11

It was shaping up to be a normal day at Major Crimes.

Phones rang in the background, printers hummed, and the scent of bad coffee floated through the air like a permanent fixture. The team was already in rhythm before the first hour had passed.

Karadec at his desk sorting through witness statements, Daphne scanning digital footprints on her dual monitors, Oz cross-referencing data between two different case folders, and Lieutenant Soto emerging from her office with a to-go mug and a look that said 'get it done and don't bother me unless it's on fire'.

It was the kind of organized chaos they thrived in. Everyone knew their roles. Everyone moved with purpose. No wasted energy, no slack in the rope.

And then Morgan walked in, box of donuts in hand, hair half-up, jacket in a pop of deep plum, and for once... not late.

"Oh no," Daphne said, mock-suspicious as she rose from her desk. "The donut fairy is punctual. Is the world ending?"

"Someone check the clock. I think time might be broken," Oz added, already abandoning his chair to make a beeline for the donuts. "Don't move, I'm diving in first."

Morgan smirked and set the box down on the breakroom counter like it was a gift from the gods. "Calm down, sugar junkies. They're not going anywhere."

Soto passed behind them with a smirk but didn't slow. "Five-minute break, people. Then back to hell."

"Yes, boss," they all chimed in perfect sync, grinning like middle schoolers pretending to be innocent.

Daphne opened the box and gasped. "You got the buttermilk bars! You do love us."

Morgan casually leaned against the counter, taking her own coffee from the side. "Of course I do. Who else would I let make my life miserable every single day?"

"You're late to being early," Karadec said, still flipping through a file, barely looked up.

As Daphne and Oz began arguing over who deserved the last maple twist, Morgan glanced toward Karadec. "Oh, and—apple fritter's for my best buddy."

Daphne and Oz paused, mid-grab.

Karadec lifted his head, arching one brow.

Morgan leaned in, her voice low, directed only at Karadec as she set the fritter aside. "You really think I'd forget your favorite 'donut' that's not a donut?"

Karadec blinked.

Then, a brief smile curved across his face. Quiet, small, real. He shook his head, barely, but the appreciation was clear in his eyes.

The morning rolled on. Casework resumed. Files were opened, timelines reconstructed, leads followed. They were working a homicide that had crossed jurisdictions. A turf complication that meant another department was involved. Lieutenant Harris, a liaison from Special Investigations, was temporarily assigned to coordinate with Soto's unit.

Late morning, the man arrived. Old man, tall, pressed shirt, clipboard in hand, face that had forgotten how to smile.

Karadec, Daphne, and Oz greeted him as he entered the bullpen, all business. Morgan had been called into Soto's office for something or another, her voice audible through the partially closed door.

"So," Harris said, flipping a page, "status on the Vic's last movements?"

Karadec responded smoothly, handling over a printout. "We confirmed surveillance footage from the gas station across the street. Timestamp matches the witness testimony."

"And the suspect's last known location?" Harris asked, scanning.

"Oakwood Apartments. Unit B7. Tied to him through a burner phone we traced to his cousin," Oz added.

"Solid," Harris said, nodding absently. Though his eyes weren't on the files anymore. They were focused on the windowed office behind them.

On Morgan.

She was leaning on Soto's desk, animatedly talking through something with Selena, her voice faint but determined. As usual, her outfit was eclectic—color-blocked skirt, a fluffy cropped jacket, high-top boots with a design that looked like constellations.

"So that's the cleaning lady you guys tried to turn into a detective?" Harris said, still watching.

Karadec's eyes flicked up. "She's a consultant," he said firmly. "And she's part of this team now."

Harris shrugged, nonchalant. "Doesn't look like much of a consultant."

Daphne froze mid-note. Oz stopped breathing entirely.

Karadec didn't flinch. "You got the update. Let's keep it moving."

But Harris wasn't done. "She always dress like that? What is she, forty-five going on twenty? Why do you let her wear those colorful outfits to work?"

That was the last straw. Daphne's expression soured. Oz stilled beside her.

Karadec, however, remained composed. Calm. Measured. But the temperature in the room changed the second he spoke.

"She can wear whatever she wants," Karadec said, voice dropped lower. "Her clothes are none of your concern."

Harris shifted, uncomfortable, but Karadec didn't let up.

"And frankly, you don't have the right to comment on how anyone here dresses. Least of all someone who's done more in this precinct in six months than most manage in years."

Harris blinked, caught off guard.

Karadec leaned forward, the edge in his voice subtle but unmistakable. "So are we going to talk about the case, or not? Because at the moment, you don't seem particularly inclined to your job, Lieutenant."

The room went quiet.

Daphne's jaw dropped slightly. Oz let out the softest whistle under his breath, cut short when Harris turned sharply, papers now clutched in his hand.

Harris didn't say another word. For a moment, he looked like he might argue. But he knew to himself that Karadec's clapback was valid, so he spun on his heel and left, the echo of his exit ringing like punctuation.

After a beat, Daphne turned to Karadec. "You broke him."

"I think he short-circuited," Oz murmured, eyes wide.

Karadec just took a sip of his coffee like nothing happened, setting it back down with a faint clink. "He was wasting our time."

Neither Oz nor Daphne said anything more. But the quiet admiration in their glances said enough.

Across the room, Morgan emerged from Soto's office, oblivious to what just transpired. She walked back toward the team, file in hand, giving Karadec a quizzical look as she passed.

"What?" she asked casually, noticing the weird energy.

Karadec didn't look at her directly. Just handed her a copy of the case file and said, "You've got good timing."

She gave him a slow blink, then a shrug, taking her place beside him at the table. "Don't I always?"

He didn't respond. But behind that unreadable expression, the faintest hint of that same smile tugged at his lips again.

And the day went on.