The Chronicles of Tim and Lucy

Old Wounds

The next morning felt different. Lucy had barely slept, her mind still reeling from the intensity of the previous day. But instead of feeling drained, she felt alive—like she was finally hitting her stride. The thought of heading back out into the field didn't fill her with the same anxious dread it used to. She was ready.

When she walked into the precinct, Tim was already at his desk, as usual, sipping his coffee and staring at his tablet. He didn't look up when she approached, but she could tell by the slight nod that he acknowledged her.

"Morning," she said, setting her gear down beside him.

"Morning," he replied without looking up. His tone was the same as always—gruff, but not unfriendly. It was clear that yesterday had shifted something between them. Lucy had earned a place at his side, even if Tim wasn't the type to admit it outright.

They went over the day's plan—another patrol, another chance to prove herself—and before long, they were back in the cruiser, navigating the city streets that had quickly become familiar.

But as the day wore on, things stayed quiet. Too quiet. After the intensity of the last few days, Lucy had half-expected the action to ramp right back up. Instead, it was a lot of routine: checking on noise complaints, a few traffic stops, and patrolling the neighborhood where the officer had gone down the day before. All business as usual.

"Feels like the calm before the storm," Lucy commented as they passed through a quiet suburban block.

Tim glanced at her but didn't respond right away. Instead, he pulled the car over, his eyes narrowing as he looked ahead at something on the corner.

"What is it?" Lucy asked, leaning forward to get a better look.

"Stay in the car," Tim said, his voice suddenly tight.

Lucy's stomach dropped. She knew that tone. Something was wrong. She watched as Tim stepped out of the cruiser, his body stiff as he approached the sidewalk. Lucy squinted and saw what had caught his attention—a man, maybe in his mid-forties, sitting on the curb. His head was down, his shoulders hunched as he stared at the pavement.

It didn't look like anything unusual. But Tim's reaction told her there was more to it than she could see.

She kept her hand on the door handle, ready to jump out if things escalated, but Tim didn't seem to be preparing for a confrontation. Instead, he stood in front of the man, his posture tense but not aggressive.

"Ryan," Tim said, his voice low. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Lucy's eyes widened. Tim knew this guy?

The man—Ryan—looked up slowly. His face was lined with exhaustion, his eyes bloodshot. There was a faint bruise on his cheek, and from the way he held himself, Lucy could tell he'd been in some kind of fight.

"I wasn't expecting to run into you, Bradford," Ryan said with a weak, humorless chuckle. His voice was raspy, like he'd been yelling or smoking too much. "Just my luck, right?"

Tim clenched his jaw, and Lucy could see the barely-contained frustration in his expression. This wasn't the usual tough-love approach he had with her. This was personal.

"You shouldn't be here," Tim said coldly. "You need to leave. Now."

Ryan didn't move. He just sighed, leaning back on his hands like he had all the time in the world. "What's the point? There's nothing left for me out there."

Lucy couldn't hear much more from inside the car, but the tension was radiating off Tim in waves. She watched, uneasy, trying to piece together what was happening. Who was this guy? And why was Tim so rattled?