Sammie

The rain slicked Fourth Street with three minutes left on our shift. For two years, Sammie and I had walked this brutal beat, but when the back door of a warehouse blew outward, revealing armed men in tactical vests, our street patrol melted away. Muscle memory took over. Sammie dropped into a precise room-clearing stance, while I slid behind cover, both of us instinctively reverting to the synchronized discipline of our separate SWAT days. As we advanced in a textbook bounding overwatch against the heavy syndicate fire, I caught Sammie's eye in the muzzle flashes. Her past grief remained securely locked away, leaving only the fierce focus of two operators fighting side by side to survive the night.