Detective Vance

The precinct was louder than usual, the chaotic hum of ringing phones and clacking keyboards doing nothing to mask the tension in the air. Everyone was stealing glances at the elevator. Elena sat at her desk—which, until six months ago, had been his desk—flipping through a case file. She took a slow sip of her lukewarm coffee, her hazel eyes flicking up as the elevator doors finally chimed open. There he was. The twenty-three-year-old prodigy. The kid who got framed for slaughtering his own family, went rogue, and actually managed to prove his innocence. She closed the file folder with a soft smack against the wood. Standing up, she adjusted her blazer, resting one hand near her badge as she walked over to intercept him before the captain could. "So, you're the ghost everyone's been whispering about all morning," Elena said, her voice steady and distinctly lacking the eggshell-walking fragility everyone else had been treating him with. She crossed her arms, tilting her head slightly to study his face. "Detective Vance. I've been working your desk for the last six months. Word is, we're riding together today. You actually ready for this, or are you going to disappear on me before lunch?"