Hostage: A Chenford Crisis

Lucy's POV:

Sergeant Grey steps up, his usual no-nonsense tone filling the room. "Alright, gather up. Same shift, different day. You all know what's expected of you, so I'm not here to baby you. You're experienced officers, and I expect nothing less than your best."

He lets the words sink in, the room quiet, everyone focused.

"We've got a job to do, and the city doesn't wait for us to catch up. That means no mistakes, no excuses. If you're on a case, stay sharp. If you're on patrol, don't let anything slip by you. Keep your eyes open, keep your head in the game."

I nod along. We all know the drill.

"We work as a team, but that doesn't mean I want to hear about every little problem. Solve them yourself, or bring it to me when it matters." He pauses. "And remember, every call counts. We're here to do the job right and keep each other safe. That's it. Get out there."

With that, he exits the room, and the team starts to filter out.

I hang back for a second, waiting for Tim. "First day with no rookies. Feels weird," I say, falling in step with him as we head toward the garage.

"Yeah, no rookies. Means we don't have to babysit, but it also means less rookies to do coffee runs. Sucks for you." Tim snorts, clearly amused.

"Lucky for you, I already got you coffee." I hand him a cup. "Black coffee. For your grumpy ass."

Tim takes the cup with a raised eyebrow. "Guess I don't have to teach you anything about how to read people, huh? Black coffee's the only way to survive this job."

I smirk. "I don't need to 'read' you. I just know you too well."

Tim takes a sip and shrugs. "But next time, don't make it so strong. I don't need to be awake for 48 hours straight."

"Woah, I made you a coffee. So ungrateful." I tease, crossing my arms.

He takes another sip, unfazed. "Coffee's great, but you do realize we're not getting paid for break time, right? We're supposed to be out on patrol, not having a coffee date."

"Alright," I say, walking to the kit room. "Thanks." I smile, feeling the lightheartedness between us. I grab my body cam and strap it on, then throw my bags over my shoulder. We head to the garage, and I open the passenger door, sliding into my seat and buckling up.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Yep!"

After a couple traffic stops, we finally get a call on the radio. "7-Adam-100, 211 in progress. 8753 West Jefferson Boulevard."

"Finally some action!" I exclaim

"You're happy there's a burglary happening?" Tim queried, stepping on the gas and turning on the sirens.

"Well um- I didn't mean it like that."

As we pull up closer to the bank, we hear gunshots.

"Gunshots fired at our location. Requesting backup." I radio, my heart pounding loudly in my chest.

Tim slams the brakes as we near the entrance of the bank, tires screeching. The sound of chaos filters out from inside—the pounding of feet, voices shouting.

I glance at Tim, his expression hardening. "Stay close."

We step out of the car, weapons drawn, ready for anything. The sound of sirens from other units is growing closer, but the tension in the air feels heavier than ever.

I look at Tim, our eyes locking. "We're going in."

We move toward the entrance, every step making my pulse race. But then—another explosion. A deafening crack fills the air, followed by the sound of glass shattering.

Before I can react, a shadow darts across the doorway. Someone's coming out.

"Tim, watch out!" I shout, my finger tightening on the trigger.

And then—a gunshot.