They were working on paperwork in the station when Gray called them into an interrogation room. "Okay, so Nolan, you arrested this man," Gray said, pinning a picture on the board. The man had short brown hair, brown eyes, a sharp jawline, and a plain expression. As soon as Lucy saw the picture, her heart sank. It was her dad. "We don't know much except that his name is Jason, and he is a boss in the mafia. His people are after Nolan and those close to him, so we all need to get into a safe house. Understand?" Gray explained. The tension in the room was palpable. Everyone John, Tim, Jackson, Nyla, and Angela responded in unison, "Yes, sir." Lucy, however, stood at the back of the room, her body tense and her mind racing. She wanted answers. "What are his charges?" she asked, her voice steady but filled with an underlying intensity. All eyes turned towards her. Gray met her gaze, his expression serious. "He is charged with murder, assault, and possession of illegal weapons," he said. Lucy nodded, absorbing the information. Gray thought it was weird that she asked that and her facial expression " Chen do you know him? '' Gray asked her, she shook her head as she told herself to take deep breaths.They walked out of the interrogation room, the tension still lingering in the air. It was the end of their shift, and they headed to the changing rooms to get out of their uniforms. The day's events weighed heavily on everyone's minds as they packed up and prepared to head home briefly before moving to the safe house.
Once home, Lucy hurriedly gathered some essentials clothes, toiletries, and a few personal items. The familiar surroundings did little to comfort her, knowing her father was back in her life, even from behind bars. Gray texted them the address of the safe house, and one by one, they arrived, each with their own thoughts and worries. At the safe house, everyone was assigned their own room. The house was quiet, a stark contrast to the bustling station. It felt like the calm before the storm. As Lucy unpacked her belongings in her room, she could hear the faint sounds of her colleagues settling in. The weight of the situation pressed down on her, but she pushed it aside, focusing on the task at hand.
When she finished unpacking, she noticed the house had fallen silent; everyone had gone to bed. Exhaustion washed over her, both physical and emotional. She changed into her pajamas shorts and a big T-shirt relishing the small comfort of familiar clothes. Lucy slid under the covers, the cool sheets a welcome relief against her skin. She closed her eyes, hoping for sleep to take her away from the whirlwind of thoughts and memories. But as she lay there in the dark, her mind refused to quiet down. Images of her father, the interrogation room, and the terrified look on her colleagues' faces flashed through her mind. She took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart. The safe house was supposed to be a refuge, but her anxiety was relentless. Lucy rolled onto her side, staring at the wall, trying to focus on something mundane to lull her into sleep. She counted her breaths, a technique she had learned in the Navy SEALs to calm her mind. Gradually, her body began to relax, the exhaustion finally taking over. Her thoughts became hazy, and she felt herself drifting off.
She found herself in the grip of flashbacks, each one more vivid and unsettling than the last. The past surged through her mind like a relentless tide, dragging her back to moments she had tried so hard to forget. The cold, damp basement. The sharp sting of her father's blows. The sinister smile that haunted her dreams. Lucy jolted awake, her heart pounding and her breath coming in ragged gasps. She was drenched in sweat, the sheets twisted around her as if she had been wrestling with her demons in her sleep. When she released it was just a dream. She cureld up in a ball and looked at the clock. The clock on the nightstand read 3:47 AM. She had barely slept a few hours, but it felt like an eternity. She couldn't go back to sleep now, not with her mind in turmoil. She needed to do something, anything, to shake off the remnants of the nightmare.
