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04 || 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄

𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲

Donnie absently poked at his turkey slider, the conversation around him fading to background noise as his mind worked through probabilities and scenarios. The potluck should have been a chance to relax, but he couldn't shake the tension in his shoulders.

"Earth to Donnie," April said, waving a hand in front of his face. "You've been staring at that slider for a while."

"Sorry," He mumbled, adjusting his purple mask. "Just thinking."

Casey Jones laughed from across the table, mouth half-full of potato salad. "When are you not thinking?"

Donnie forced a smile, but his eyes continued scanning the room. An officer named, Officer Ramirez was by the punch bowl, laughing with Vern Fenwick, who was dramatically recounting some news station mishap. Three more off-duty cops clustered near the wall, their relaxed postures a stark contrast to his own vigilance.

"She's still out there," He said quietly to April. "The female Foot Soldier from the other night. I've analyzed the fighting style from my cam footage."

April's expression grew serious. "Donnie, don't worry. We're safe. Whoever she is, she can't get in here." She paused, rethinking her opinion. "Do you think she might come after you guys voluntarily?"

"Don't know." Donnie replied, finally taking a bite of his slider. "I installed those new proximity sensors late last night in the lair. Better to be safe than sorry later." Donatello pushed his thick glasses up, the fluorescent lights hummed overhead, reflecting off his purple bandana as he leaned against the wall, a turkey slider untouched on his paper plate. He should have eaten it by now... These social gatherings always made him uneasy— too many variables, too many unknowns. But the food always got him to come along.

His brothers were scattered throughout the room. Mikey was entertaining a group of rookie officers with some improbable story, hands gesturing wildly. Raph was speaking with some bulkier and competitive officers, comparing biceps humorously. Leo was deep in conversation with Chief Vincent, probably discussing tactics or protocol or something similarly responsible.

Donnie's eyes methodically scanned the crowd, mentally cataloging each face. Off-duty officers in casual clothes look oddly incomplete without their uniforms. April was chatting animatedly with Casey Jones, who was somehow managing to look rebellious even while eating a deviled egg. Vern is now hovering near the punch bowl, probably angling for a segment on the NYPD's community outreach programs.

Then his gaze snagged on someone who didn't fit the pattern.

A young woman was standing alone near the emergency exit. Long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail as she studied her phone intently. She wore a leather jacket despite the warm room, fingerless gloves, and combat boots. She even had a mask covering her nose and mouth to conceal her identity. Unlike everyone else who moved comfortably through the space, she seemed coiled, tense, ready to bolt.

No badge. No press credentials. Not wearing anything that identified her as part of the department or its extended family.

Donnie's mind raced through possibilities. Is this a reporter looking for a scoop? No... she wasn't taking photos or notes. Civilian guest? Possible, but she wasn't talking to anyone. Threat? The way her eyes darted around the room, noting exits, tracking movements... it reminded him too much of himself when planning an extraction.

When the girl slipped her phone into her pocket and began moving toward the hallway that led to the evidence rooms, Donnie made his decision. Setting down his plate, he maneuvered through the crowd toward Chief Vincent, who was now alone, reviewing something on her tablet.