The New Detective

Chapter 9 : After Hours

Samantha’s POV

Most of the team had cleared out by the time the sun dipped behind the skyline. The bullpen lights dimmed, leaving a warm glow across the desks. I stayed behind to finish paperwork — or at least pretend to. Truth was, my mind kept replaying the day.

The chase. 
The fight. 
Voight’s voice telling me I did good. 
The team teasing me like I’d been there for years.

I didn’t expect to feel… settled. Not this fast.

I was halfway through typing when I heard footsteps behind me — slow, uneven, familiar. I didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

“You’re still here,” Voight said.

I looked over my shoulder. “So are you.”

He stepped closer, leaning on the edge of the desk across from mine. His knee was wrapped tighter now, but he still pretended it didn’t bother him.

“You should be home resting,” he said.

I raised an eyebrow. “You should be icing that knee.”

He gave me a look — the kind that said he wasn’t used to being challenged — but there was something else behind it too. Something almost amused.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“You keep saying that.”

He huffed a breath. “You’re stubborn.”

“Takes one to know one.”

That earned a real smile — small, but real. And for a moment, the room felt warmer.

He glanced at the paperwork on my desk. “You don’t have to prove anything.”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” he said quietly. “You don’t need to.”

I swallowed. “I just… want to pull my weight.”

“You already did,” he said. “More than enough.”

Silence settled between us — not awkward, but charged. Like the air shifted, thickened, waiting for something neither of us was ready to name.

He cleared his throat. “The team likes you.”

“I noticed.”

“They don’t warm up to people easily.”

“I figured.”

He looked at me then — really looked. Not as a sergeant evaluating a detective. Not as a stranger trying to judge my worth.

Something else.

“You fit here,” he said.

My chest tightened. “I hope so.”

“You do.”

The words were simple, but the way he said them… steady, certain, almost gentle… it hit harder than I expected.

I looked down at my hands, suddenly unsure what to do with them. “Thank you.”

He nodded once, then pushed off the desk. “Come on. I’ll walk you out.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know.”

He waited.

I grabbed my jacket and followed him through the quiet bullpen. The elevator dinged softly, and we stepped inside. The doors closed, leaving us in a small, quiet space that felt too intimate for how little we actually knew each other.

Voight stood beside me, hands in his pockets, eyes forward — but I could feel him watching me in the reflection of the metal doors.

“You did good today,” he said again, softer this time.

I looked up at him. “So did you.”

He shook his head. “I’m not the one who took down a suspect with a concussion.”

“You’re not the one who ran on a bad knee.”

He smirked. “Fair enough.”

The elevator doors opened, and we stepped into the cool night air. My bike was parked near the curb, still dusty from the chase.

“You riding that home?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

He didn’t look thrilled. “Be careful.”

“I always am.”

He gave me a look that said he didn’t believe that for a second.

I swung my leg over the bike, but before I started it, he spoke again.

“And Walker?”

I paused. “Yeah?”

His voice dropped — low, steady, honest.

“You’re going to do good things here.”

My breath caught.

“Goodnight, Sarge,” I said softly.

He nodded once. “Goodnight.”

I rode off, heart pounding harder than it should’ve, knowing one thing for certain:

This wasn’t just a job anymore.

Something was shifting.

And neither of us was ready for what came next.