Chapter 41
Alex
You don’t notice patterns when you’re comfortable. You notice them when something feels off. And lately, everything feels off.
It starts small, it always does.
A car that lingers a little too long at the edge of a block. A call that routes just slightly outside the normal pattern. A face that shows up twice where it shouldn’t show up at all.
Individually, they don’t mean anything. But together, they start to form a shape. And I don’t like the shape they’re forming.
I’m standing in the bullpen, staring at the board, but I’m not really seeing it. Not the photos, not the notes, nor the web of connections we’ve been building for weeks.
I’m seeing her schedule. I’ve memorized it without meaning to. The shift blocks, rotation patterns, and days off.
I tell myself it’s strategic, that knowing where she is helps me keep her safe. But the truth is I just know. Because I pay attention. Because I always have. And now, that attention is catching things I can’t ignore.
“She ran two late shifts back-to-back this week?” Mason’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
I don’t look at him right away. “Yeah,” I say.
“That normal?”
I shrug slightly. “Not really,” I admit.
That’s the thing, none of this is really abnormal. But it’s not exactly normal either. It’s… close, close enough that it doesn’t raise alarms. Unless you’re already looking. And I am.
“She say anything about it?” Mason asks.
I shake my head. “No.” Which doesn’t mean much. Liv doesn’t complain about work.
She adapts and adjusts, pushing through. That’s who she is.
But still: two late shifts, then an early one, then a call that should’ve gone to another unit but got rerouted.
“Feels like someone’s nudging things,” Mason mutters.
Exactly. I glance at him. “You seeing it too?”
He nods once. “Didn’t want to say it out loud yet,” he admits. “Figured I might be reaching.”
“You’re not.”
Silence settles between us because if we’re both seeing it, then it’s not paranoia.
It’s a problem.
Across town, she’s probably brushing it off. I can picture it. Liv standing beside the rig, arms crossed, that slight furrow in her brow when something doesn’t sit right.
She isn’t panicking or spiraling. Just… noticing. And then letting it go.
Because that’s what she does. Because if she stopped for every uneasy feeling, she’d never move.
Later that night, I meet her at work, finding her in the garage. She’s leaning against the side of the rig, talking to Scott.
I don’t approach right away. I hang back and let her converse. Watch the interaction.
“You ever feel like calls are getting… weird?” she’s asking.
Scott frowns slightly. “Weird how?”
“I don’t know,” she murmurs, pushing off the rig, pacing once. “Like they’re not random anymore.”
My chest tightens. There it is. She sees it too, even if she doesn’t fully trust it yet.
Scott shrugs. “It’s a bad stretch,” he agrees. “Happens.”
“Yeah,” she mutters. “I know.” But she doesn’t sound convinced. She sounds like she’s trying to convince herself.
“You’ve been through worse runs than this,” Scott adds.
“I know,” she repeats. “Just feels different,” she admits.
Scott studies her for a second. “Different how?”
She hesitates, and I can see the moment she decides not to say it. “Never mind,” she shakes her head. “Probably just me being paranoid.”
And there’s the dismissal, the thing people do when their instincts are right but inconvenient.
Scott nods. “Wouldn’t blame you if you were,” he says. “After everything lately?”
“Yeah,” she huffs. “Exactly.”
She laughs it off. But it doesn’t stick.
I step forward then, making my presence known.
She glances up and for a second, something soft flickers across her face. It’s gone almost immediately. But it was there.
“Hey,” she hums.
“Hey.”
Scott gives me a nod, then steps away, giving us space without making a thing of it.
I stop a few feet from her.
“You okay?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Yeah,” she says. “Just tired.”
“You feel like things have been off?” I ask instead deciding to be more direct about what I want to talk about.
Her gaze sharpens slightly. “Why?”
Because you’re not the only one noticing. “Just a feeling,” I say.
She studies me for a long moment. “…Yeah,” she admits quietly. “But it’s probably nothing.”
“No,” I say, firm and certain.
Her brow furrows. “Alex-”
“It’s not nothing,” I repeat. “And you shouldn’t ignore it.”
She crosses her arms defensively. “I’m not ignoring it,” she assures. “I’m just not jumping to conclusions.”
“Good,” I reply. “Don’t jump. But don’t dismiss it either.”
The flicker in her eyes tells me she hears the difference.
“I deal with weird calls all the time,” she says. “Patterns happen.”
“Not like this.”
Her jaw tightens slightly. “You don’t know that.”
“I do,” I counter.
I’ve seen patterns like this before, right before things escalate. Right before someone gets hurt.
Her gaze holds mine, searching. “Is this about me?” she asks.
“It’s about the case,” I prod, purposefully using the line I know she dislikes while giving her enough of a smirk to tell her that I’m teasing.
She exhales sharply. “Everything’s about the case with you,” she mutters.
“I need you to take this seriously,” I say.
“I am.”
“Then act like it.”
Her eyes flash. “There it is,” she snaps. “That tone.”
I exhale, forcing myself to ease back. “I’m not trying to control you,” I entreat.
“Feels like it,” she shoots back.
“Then let me rephrase,” I prompt. “I need you to trust your instincts.”
She hesitates because she does trust them. She just doesn’t always listen to them.
“…Okay,” she says finally, not fully agreeing but not resisting either. “I’ll keep an eye out.”
Not enough, but it’s something. I nod once. “Good.”