EPISODE 2

After both Riley and Daniel finished giving their statements to the investigators, they were summoned to the captain’s office.

Captain Morales sat behind his desk, his expression unreadable, fingers drumming lightly on a stack of incident reports. “Sergeant Hartman. Officer Xavier,” he began, his tone calm but edged with authority. “I’ve read the preliminary statements, but I want to hear it straight from you.”

Riley recounted the events, her voice steady, walking the captain through each decision she made — from the moment she received the dispatcher’s call to the instant she pulled the trigger. Daniel, sitting beside her, nodded at key moments, adding details where necessary.

When they finished, the captain leaned back in his chair, letting the silence stretch for a moment before speaking. “You both handled a dangerous situation with precision,” he said, his gaze locking on Riley. “Lives were saved today because you acted fast.”

Daniel straightened slightly in his chair. “Thank you, sir,” he said, glancing at Riley with the respect due her rank.

Morales gave them a curt nod. “Good work. That’ll be all.”

After leaving the captain’s office, Riley spent the rest of the day in the station, buried in follow-up work. There were forms to complete, supplemental reports to type, and bodycam footage to review for the official record.

She moved between her desk and the records room, occasionally exchanging brief words with other officers passing by. Though the incident was behind her, the weight of the day still clung to her shoulders, a quiet reminder of the split-second decisions she’d made.

By late afternoon, her eyes felt heavy from staring at screens and reading through reports. She finally powered down her computer, gathered her things, and walked out to the parking lot.

Sliding into the driver’s seat of her black SUV, Riley took a deep breath before starting the engine. The low rumble filled the quiet lot as she pulled out, heading toward the long road home.

A few minutes later, Riley pulled into her driveway, the quiet suburban street bathed in the soft glow of streetlights. The weight of the day pressed down on her like a physical force as she switched off the engine. For a moment, she just sat there, gripping the steering wheel, her mind caught in a storm of exhaustion and unspoken pain.

Finally, she opened the door and stepped out, the night air cool against her skin. Her footsteps echoed softly on the porch as she entered her home, the silence swallowing her whole. She set her bag down by the door, then moved without thought toward the bathroom, her shoulders hunched.

The hot water cascaded over her, steam filling the room and fogging the mirror, but no warmth could reach the cold place inside her chest. She let the water run over her face, down her arms, as if it could wash away the memories — but it never did.

Dressed now in worn sweats and a loose shirt, she moved into the kitchen. The ritual was familiar — open the fridge, pull out ingredients, chop, cook — but the motions were automatic, mind elsewhere. She prepared a simple dinner, ate slowly, savoring nothing, lost in a haze of fatigue.

When the plate was empty, Riley rose and went to her bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers tracing the worn edges of a photograph she pulled from the drawer of her nightstand.

It was a picture of Ryan Becham — her ex-boyfriend, the man she loved more deeply than she could ever say, and the man whose life had been stolen from her. In the photo, he smiled warmly, his eyes bright with life, one arm around her as they stood on a sunlit beach.

The image pulled her back in time, and suddenly the past wasn’t distant at all.

She remembered the night they sat together under a blanket of stars by a quiet lake. Ryan had laughed softly, telling her how lucky he was to have her in his life. His hand had found hers in the dark, their fingers intertwining effortlessly. “Promise me,” he’d said, “no matter what happens, we face it together.”

She could still hear his voice, feel the warmth of his presence beside her.

Another memory surfaced — the time he surprised her with tickets to a concert, watching her eyes light up as their favorite band took the stage. Ryan had held her close, whispering jokes and dreams between songs, promising a future that now seemed impossibly out of reach.

But then, the sharpest memory of all: the day Ryan was killed.

She had been in college then, while he was already an officer. He’d been chasing down leads on a dangerous drug ring linked to Vincent McCain — a man protected by wealth and corruption. Before his death, Ryan had confided in her, sharing secrets about the case and the threats he faced. Then one night, everything changed.

Ryan was shot during an attempted arrest. But the truth was twisted and buried. With the help of corrupt officers and Joe Finn — Ryan’s partner and supposed friend — Ryan was framed as the criminal, a drug dealer rather than the victim.

That lie shattered her world.

Riley’s chest tightened, a rush of grief and fury flooding her. Tears spilled freely as she whispered broken fragments to the empty room, “They took you away. They lied on you… on us. I will not forget.”

She pressed the photo to her lips, her fingers trembling.

After a long moment, she wiped her cheeks and rose. Walking to her closet, she pulled open a hidden panel, revealing a narrow doorway. Beyond it was her undercover room — the war room she had created to fight back.

Inside, harsh fluorescent lights illuminated walls plastered with photos, documents, and clippings. Pictures of Vincent McCain stared back at her, his cold eyes mocking. Nearby were images of his father, a wealthy man wielding power behind the scenes. Other faces — men who had helped orchestrate the cover-up — hung in neat rows, each with names and notes pinned beneath.

Riley moved slowly, fingertips grazing each photo. She stopped at Joe Finn’s, anger coiling tight in her gut.

“They betrayed you,” she hissed. “They all betrayed you. But I will make them pay.”

Her breath came hard, her mind sharp with resolve. Every name, every face was a target. Every lie a thread she would unravel until justice was hers.

She spoke aloud, her voice low and fierce, “I don’t care what it takes. I will find the truth. For you, Ryan. For us.”

The room was silent except for her steady breathing. In this space, her pain transformed into purpose — a fire that would not be extinguished.

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