Riley lingered just outside the conference room, pressing her back against the cold wall. She wasn't supposed to be here. Technically, she was supposed to be down in the garage searching an impounded car with Julie, but she'd overheard enough murmurs around the precinct to know something was going on behind those closed doors.

The voices inside were low but intense, and curiosity gnawed at her. She shifted slightly, angling herself to hear better.

Inside the room, she recognized Sergeant Donnelly's gravelly voice. "This is bigger than we thought. All three of them. Dead. In their cells."

Riley's heart skipped a beat. Her mind instantly flashed to the scene at the Warehouse Club—the two hostages tied to chairs, the gunfire, and the man who had grazed her arm with his bullet. The three of them had been hauled in that night. Now they were dead?

"What the hell?" That was Detective Jackson, one of the more seasoned detectives on the force. "How? They were supposed to be under 24-hour watch until trial."

"They were," another voice, John Meyers, chimed in. "This wasn't some random accident. It's a hit."

There was a heavy silence, and Riley strained to hear more, her pulse quickening. Her fingers itched to pull out her phone and start recording, but she knew better than to risk it.

"I warned you," Luke Maddox's voice cut through the room, laced with frustration. "We hit too close to home with that drug raid. Whoever we're dealing with—this is their cleanup."

"And now we've got three dead perps," John said, his voice gruff. "Doesn't look good for us. How the hell did they manage it inside our own cells?"

"Internal or external, it doesn't matter right now," Sergeant Donnelly said. "What matters is that we find out who's behind this and fast. Before this whole thing comes back on the department. We've got a mess to clean up, and I'm not interested in dealing with another PR nightmare."

Riley's mind raced, piecing things together. She had known that the situation at the Warehouse Club had been shady, but this? This was something else entirely. If these people could get to three suspects inside the station, what kind of power were they dealing with?

"We need to launch a formal investigation into that club," Luke said, his voice more composed now, but still firm. "We've already got intel from the night of the raid, and I've got Riley's and my reports to back it up. Something's off there—this whole 'shipment' they were talking about, and the way they were handling those two hostages. It's all connected."

"Agreed," Detective Jackson piped up, for once sounding serious. "We've got to move quickly on this before they have time to cover more tracks. We start digging into that club, into their shipments, and we might find out who's behind the deaths."

Sergeant Donnelly exhaled sharply. "Alright. We go all in on the Warehouse Club. But we keep it quiet for now. No need to raise any alarms before we know what we're dealing with."

"Should we bring in anyone else? Feds?" one of the detectives asked.

"No," Donnelly said firmly. "Not yet. I don't want this turning into a circus until we have solid evidence. We've got a bigger mess on our hands than I realized."

Riley's stomach churned. It wasn't just that the people they'd arrested were dead—it was how they were dead. Executed. Silenced. This was bigger than anything she'd expected when they responded to the call at the strip club, and now it was clear that whoever they were up against wasn't afraid to take out anyone who got too close.

"Let's get the ball rolling," Donnelly said. "Jackson, you'll head up the investigation. I want all eyes on that club—surveillance, wiretaps, whatever it takes. Maddox, start putting together a recon rotation. We need to get to the bottom of what's going on there, and fast."

She heard chairs scraping, signaling that the meeting was wrapping up.

Her pulse raced, and she quickly stepped away from the door, moving down the hall before anyone could catch her snooping. She'd learned enough. The deaths of the warehouse suspects weren't accidents—they were deliberate, a clear message from whoever was pulling the strings.

As she slipped around a corner and into the relative safety of a quiet hallway, her thoughts raced. Luke had been right—they'd hit too close to home. And now, they were caught in the middle of something far more dangerous than they'd realized.

_____________________________________________________________

The next week, Riley stood outside the sergeant's office, staring at the closed door, her fingers brushing nervously against her belt. The shift had been long, but the adrenaline had worn off with a good, long, hot shower. She'd been thinking about the strip club for days now, ever since they'd uncovered evidence of drug running. Being stuck on the sidelines, overhearing snippets of intel here and there around the station, was driving her insane. She needed to be more involved, to prove herself—especially to Maddox.

Taking a deep breath, Riley knocked twice and waited for Sergeant Donnelly's gruff voice to invite her in.

"Come in."

Riley opened the door and stepped inside. The sergeant sat behind his cluttered desk, paperwork scattered everywhere, a half-empty coffee mug perched dangerously close to the edge. Donnelly was a thick-set man in his fifties, with graying hair and sharp eyes that didn't miss much. He looked up from the papers, brow furrowing when he saw her.

"Torres. What do you need? Shift's over, isn't it?"

Riley squared her shoulders, closing the door behind her. "Yes, sir. I wanted to talk to you about the Warehouse club investigation."

Donnelly leaned back in his chair, eyeing her for a moment. "What about it?"

"I want to be more involved," Riley said, keeping her voice steady. "I've been looking into it with Maddox, but I know I can contribute more to this operation."

The sergeant raised an eyebrow. "You've been doing your job, Torres, which is more than enough for now. We've got senior officers on this, people with more experience in undercover work. You're still a rookie."

Riley expected the dismissal, but it still stung. She stepped forward, standing her ground. "With all due respect, sir, I know I'm new, but I grew up in neighborhoods like the one we're investigating. I know how these people operate. I've been around that kind of crowd my whole life. I can blend in. Let me do more than just running speed traps and directing traffic."

Donnelly sighed and rubbed his temple. "You don't just 'blend in' on a high profile operation, Torres. You've barely been on the force for three months. What makes you think you're ready for something like this?"

Riley clenched her jaw, trying to control her frustration. She knew how she looked—young, inexperienced, untested. But she wasn't about to back down. Not now. Not when she felt so close to proving she had what it took.

"I grew up around this," she said, her voice low but firm. "I'm not just a cop who knows the law, I know the streets. I know how to survive out there, and I'm not afraid of these people. I've lived with worse. If you give me a chance, I can help take this operation to the next level."

Donnelly studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Riley's heart pounded in her chest as the silence stretched between them. She wasn't sure if she was getting through to him, but she had to try.

"This isn't about being afraid, Torres," Donnelly finally said, his voice softer but still firm. "It's about experience. One mistake, and we lose more than just this operation—we could lose people. I don't have the luxury of taking risks just because someone's eager to prove themselves."

Riley's chest tightened. "I'm not asking for special treatment, sir. I'm asking for a chance. I've been watching Maddox and the others run this thing for weeks now. I've seen enough to know how it works. I'm ready."

Donnelly shook his head, leaning forward again. "And what does Maddox think about this?"

"He doesn't know," Riley admitted, her voice stiff. "But this isn't just about what he thinks. I want to be involved, and I know I can be useful."

The sergeant's eyes narrowed, as if gauging how serious she was. "You think you can handle this, Torres? I mean really handle it? No rookie mistakes, no improvising in the field. You listen to orders, you follow protocol, and you don't let your personal shit get in the way. I won't have this operation jeopardized by emotion."

Riley swallowed, her throat dry. "I can handle it."

For another long moment, Donnelly just stared at her, weighing his options. Then, finally, he sighed, leaning back in his chair once more.

"All right," he said slowly. "You can be part of the recon team—just recon for now, nothing else. You sit back, you watch, you report. No heroics, no acting without backup. Am I clear?"

A wave of relief washed over her, but she kept her face neutral. "Crystal clear, sir."

"I'm serious, Torres," Donnelly warned, his tone sharp. "If you step out of line, if you put this op in jeopardy, you're off it for good. Understood?"

"Yes, sir. I won't let you down."

He eyed her one last time before nodding. "Get out of here, then. Go home, cool off, and be ready for your next shift."

Riley nodded and turned to leave, her heart pounding in her chest. As she closed the door behind her, a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She had done it. She was finally in.

Now, all she had to do was prove she could handle it.

______________________________________________________________

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as Riley walked into the briefing room the next day, her heart racing but her face set in determination. This was her first time officially involved in the Warehouse Club investigation, and she wasn't about to let anything—or anyone—derail her. She spotted a few of the senior officers already seated, murmuring amongst themselves while Luke stood at the front with Sergeant Donnelly, going over some files. Luke glanced up the moment she entered, his jaw tightening.

"Torres," the sergeant called out, waving her over. "Take a seat. We're about to start."

Riley slid into an empty chair near the front, her eyes on the screen at the front of the room where a map of the city was projected. The Warehouse Club, their current focus, was marked with a bold red dot, and other locations related to the operation were scattered around the city in blue.

"Let's get started," Donnelly said, clearing his throat as he moved to the front of the room. "We've got intel that there's something big going down at the Warehouse Club. We've had a few undercover officers monitoring the place, but we need to ramp up our surveillance. The plan is to rotate recon teams and keep eyes on the club 24/7. Torres," he said, nodding in her direction. "You'll be part of that rotation."

Before Riley could respond, Luke cut in, his voice sharp. "No. She's not ready for this."

Riley blinked, her spine stiffening. She turned in her seat, staring at Luke in disbelief as the room fell silent. The other officers exchanged awkward glances, sensing the tension immediately.

Donnelly raised an eyebrow. "Maddox, she's been cleared to be part of the recon team. We already discussed this."

Luke took a step forward, his voice low but firm. "I don't care if she's been cleared. I don't think she should be involved in this operation. It's too dangerous."

Riley's blood boiled, and she shot out of her seat. "What the hell, Luke?"

He didn't even look at her, his eyes locked on the sergeant. "This isn't a game, Donnelly. She's not ready. If something goes wrong, it's on us."

Riley could feel the anger rising in her chest, burning through her veins. She couldn't believe he was doing this—undermining her in front of the entire team. "I'm right here, you know!" she snapped, her voice louder than she intended. "You don't get to make that call."

Luke finally looked at her, his expression cold and unyielding. "I'm trying to keep you from getting killed, Torres."

"That's not your call to make," she shot back, stepping toward him. "I'm a cop. I know what I signed up for, and I've been doing my job just like everyone else here."

"You're a rookie, Riley," Luke growled. "You think you're ready for this, but you're not. I've seen what happens when rookies get involved in something they're not prepared for, and I'm not going to watch it happen again."

Riley clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. "This isn't about me being a rookie, Luke. This is about you still blaming yourself for Evan."

At that, Luke's eyes darkened, his jaw tightening further. The room felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for his response.

Donnelly stepped in, his voice calm but firm. "Enough, both of you."

The tension was thick between them, but Riley tore her gaze from Luke and turned to face the sergeant. "I can handle this, sir. I'm not going to put anyone at risk. I've already proved myself on the street. I want to help, and I can help."

Luke opened his mouth to protest again, but Donnelly held up a hand. "Maddox, I get where you're coming from, but Torres is right. She's been cleared, and I'm not taking her off the team unless she gives me a reason to. We've all made our rookie mistakes, but she deserves a chance to prove herself."

Luke's mouth pressed into a hard line, but he said nothing, glaring down at the floor.

Riley exhaled, relieved, but her frustration simmered just below the surface. She knew this wasn't over.

Donnelly continued, addressing the rest of the room. "We're upping the recon teams. Maddox, you'll stay on your current shift with Torres for now. We'll review the new intel every morning and adjust as needed. Everyone clear?"

The room murmured their assent, and the sergeant dismissed the group. The officers began filing out of the room, but Riley stayed where she was, waiting until everyone else had left. Luke remained too, his shoulders rigid, hands clenched at his sides.

Once they were alone, Riley walked up to him, her voice low but seething with anger. "You had no right to do that."

Luke stared at her, his expression unreadable. "I had every right. I'm your training officer."

"You're supposed to train me, not control me. I'm not some liability you need to babysit."

Luke's eyes flashed, his frustration palpable. "You don't get it, do you? One mistake, Riley. One screw-up in there, and you're dead. I've seen it happen. I'm not going to let it happen again."

Riley crossed her arms over her chest, her heart pounding. "You can't protect me forever, Luke. You don't get to make decisions for me just because you're still blaming yourself for what happened to Calloway."

His expression hardened, and he took a step closer, his voice a dangerous whisper. "You don't know anything about what happened."

Riley stared him down, refusing to back down. "Maybe not, but I know you're letting it cloud your judgment. I'm not going to screw up, Luke. I won't let you—or anyone else—down."

For a moment, they stood in tense silence, the air between them crackling with unspoken emotion. Finally, Luke stepped back, running a hand through his hair, his frustration clear. "Just... don't make me regret this."

Riley didn't respond, watching as he turned and walked out of the room, leaving her alone with the weight of everything unsaid.