The disadvantages of the LAPD

All of Lucy's killers had been found.

Tim had hunted them down, every last one. Names turned into faces. Faces turned into arrests. Arrests turned into convictions. The justice system had done its job, aided by the fury and tenacity of a man who had given up everything else to see it through.

And yet... Tim still couldn't breathe.

The weight in his chest never lifted, no matter how many criminals he brought to justice. The hollow feeling never ceased. It was as if the world had pressed pause on his heart when Lucy was taken from him, and even though everything had been set right—he still couldn't find his footing.

Lucy's death had shattered him. A piece of him had been ripped away that he didn't know how to get back. Every step forward felt like one taken on broken glass, bloodied and painful. The team had stood by him, offering their support, their presence, but nothing could replace the gap Lucy had left.

And now, with all her killers found, he was still lost.

He'd buried himself in work, in case files, in interviews. Every lead felt like a promise, a sliver of hope that maybe the world could be right again. But it was never enough. He couldn't fix this. He couldn't fix himself.

The apartment felt too quiet, the silence too thick. Tim sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor, his hands clenched into fists. The only sounds were the faint hum of the city outside and the occasional crack of the wooden floors settling beneath him. He looked at his phone, fingers hovering over the screen. The contacts blinked back at him, and for a long moment, he couldn't bring himself to move.

He didn't know where to start.

Finally, after a few deep breaths, he opened the text messages. He first scrolled through the conversation with his sister, Genny, but he couldn't bring himself to read what she had sent him. She knew the pain he was in, but she also knew him well enough to know that he wasn't one for open emotion.

So, with a quiet exhale, he typed out a message to her.

First, to his sister:

Tim:
I'm sorry I've been distant. I know you were worried. I just... couldn't be the brother you needed. I don't think I've been anyone, really. Just a shadow chasing justice like it would fix something broken inside me. But it didn't. I love you, Genny. Always.

The words felt inadequate. Like a bandage over a wound too deep to heal. But they were all he had.

Next, his eyes flicked to the LAPD group chat—his colleagues. They'd been with him every step of the way since the nightmare had begun. It was time to apologize.

He hadn't realized how much he needed to send this message until his fingers typed it out, one letter after another. The words weren't eloquent. They weren't profound. But they were real.

To the LAPD main chat:

Tim:

I owe you all an apology. For disappearing. For pushing too hard. For losing sight of the line. You stood by me when I was falling apart, and I never said thank you. I didn't say much of anything.

Thank you—for having my back. For believing in Lucy. For believing in me, even when I didn't.
I'm proud to wear the badge beside all of you.
– Bradford

He stared at the message for a few moments longer, as though waiting for the weight of the words to land. Then, with a deep breath, he sent it.

After placing his phone down on the nightstand, he stood up. The room felt too small, too suffocating. He needed air. Needed to move. Needed something to shake the sense of hopelessness that had taken root in his chest.