JAKE

I finally did it.

The resignation paper sat in my hand, heavy as if it held the entire last decade of my life. It was creased at the corner from how long I had been holding it, pretending I wasn't stalling.

I used to think the FBI was the only thing I was ever meant for. I liked the work. I was good at it. And for a long time, nothing made me feel more like myself than closing a case and knowing the world was marginally better because of it.

After what happened with Blake, everyone treated me like I had climbed my way back into sainthood. I became the golden boy again. They didn't care that I had broken protocol to save Emma, didn't care that I had risked my career, life, and a good chunk of my sanity. All anyone saw was the result—Blake in custody, headlines glowing, and closure rates back on top.

But it didn't feel the same. I didn't feel the same.

Cases didn't give me that jolt anymore. I would close one, start another, and feel... nothing. Not the satisfaction I used to chase like oxygen. Not even the anger when some billionaire tried to lie to our faces. Just... a dullness building behind my ribs.

And then came the offer from D.C., a shiny promotion in a city built on politics. Everyone congratulated me and envied me in secret. After all, it was the dream. A higher position, a wider office, a bigger paycheck, a shinier badge. But the more I thought about it, the more I felt like the job was more like a slow death.

It was everything I hated about the job. More desk work, more bureaucracy, more decisions made from behind a closed door without ever looking the people affected in the eye.

The moment I read it, I felt like my own sense of self was fading into the background.

And leaving New York meant leaving the place I called home, leaving my parents alone in Ithaca when Kaylee had already moved to L.A. I would be lucky to see them for more than a rushed dinner on Christmas Eve.

And I knew that wasn't the life I wanted anymore. Someone had taught me that there were more important things than work.

Still, I might've stayed if life hadn't kept nudging me. One afternoon, a friend of mine in insurance, who owed me a drink and a favor from a case years ago, made an offhand comment.

"Man, if you ever switched to insurance investigation, you'd put us out of business."

I laughed at the time, but then I spent the next few months thinking about it.

Because the truth was, I loved the work. The puzzles. The artifacts. The chase. The feeling of putting a piece of stolen history back where it belonged. And insurance investigators got to do exactly that, with better hours, better sleep, and far fewer gunfights. And, sure, the paycheck didn't hurt either.

But the money wasn't the reason. For the first time in my life, I allowed myself to admit I wanted freedom, even if it was only the freedom to make my own choices. And I wanted time. Space. A chance to be a son, a brother... maybe even a person again.

So, I made the decision. And now here I was, standing outside Michael Ashford's office with a resignation form and a heartbeat that felt too loud in my ears, ready to let go of the life I thought I only knew.

Ashford's door was cracked open, just enough for me to catch the soft rustle of paper. I took a breath, squared my shoulders, and knocked gently on the frame.

"Come in," he said.

I stepped inside, clearing my throat. "Sir."

He looked up and sighed, removing his glasses. "So, you're really going through with this?"

His voice wasn't blaming, just resigned. He knew I had made up my mind. My desk was already empty. My cases had been reassigned. My badge was turned in. Everything I needed to do on my end was done. His signature was the final piece.

"Yes, sir," I said. My hand was steady, but my mind wasn't, like it was trying to make me second-guess this. I shut it up.

He studied me for a long moment, the way he did during evaluations or before big ops. Then he took the clipboard, eyes skimming the form even though he knew exactly what it said.

"You know," he started, still not looking at me. "I've had a lot of agents come through this unit. Good ones, bad ones, cocky ones. And then there was you."

I huffed a short laugh, remembering all the good days I had on the job, working with a team I trusted, being mentored by this man I deeply respected.

"You were one of the best I ever had the privilege to train, Parker." He finally looked up. His dark eyes were softer than I had ever seen them. "You're sharp, steady. You actually listen to advice instead of pretending you already know everything."

I smiled. "And you have been a great mentor, sir. I owe you a lot."

He cracked a faint smile, and then it softened, replaced by something gentler.

"I told you once that you could go far in the Bureau if you stuck with it." He tapped the form lightly with his pen. "But I also know what this job takes from people. More than the public ever sees. And if you keep giving and giving without stopping to look at what's left of yourself... suddenly there's nothing left to give."

I drew ‌a slow breath and said nothing, but his words brought me a sense of relief. Ashford wasn't someone I ever wanted to disappoint, and it felt nice to know he understood.

Ashford clicked the pen, signed his name with a practiced sweep, and set the form down between us.

"There," he said. "You're free to go ruin the private sector."

He stood and offered his hand. I took it. His grip was firm as always, even if this time I noticed he held on longer.

"I know you'll excel in whatever you do next," he said. "And don't be surprised if we call you in as a contractor on some tricky art cases, especially when Hoffman gets too bored to function."

That pulled a real laugh out of me. "Sounds about right."

His eyes softened. "Take care of yourself, Jake."

I smiled at the sound of my name. I could count on one hand the times he called me by my first name.

"You too, sir. Thank you for everything."

We let go at the same time, but something in my chest held on a little longer. Then I finally stepped out of the office, and just like that, after years of chasing criminals across cities, nights in freezing surveillance vans, victories, failures, bruises, and the kind of mentorship people spend careers hoping for, I walked out of Michael Ashford's office no longer an FBI agent.

When I walked down the stairs, the team gathered around me, clapping me on the back, shaking my hand, pulling me into those half-hugs people give when they didn't trust themselves to say too much. They had already thrown me a party at the bar every agent in the city haunted, but this was the official goodbye.

After they scattered, I finally noticed Luke waiting halfway down the stairs, arms folded, expression caught somewhere between a scowl and a sulk. The moment he saw me, his frown deepened.

"So you're really doing it," he said. "You're actually abandoning me."

I walked to him, arching an eyebrow. "Abandoning is dramatic, even for you. I literally have dinner at your place every week. Chloe would hunt me down if I skipped once, and Lia—"

"She'd riot," he finished, rolling his eyes. "My daughter would stage a toddler coup if her uncle Jake went missing."

"Exactly," I said, feigning offense. "And I could never. I'm too scared of her. She's tiny, but she has her mom's glare."

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head.

For a second, neither of us spoke. The air around us felt different today, like the building already knew I didn't belong to it anymore.

Luke's expression shifted, softening around the edges. "I'm gonna miss this," he admitted. "Working with someone who actually understands what I'm trying to say with only a look. And terrifying suspects with synchronized eyebrow raises. I mean, they're hard skills to replace."

I felt something tighten in my chest, but it was the good kind this time. Luke wasn't just my partner, or even my best friend. He was my brother, someone who I knew would always have my back, not just in the field, but in life, and leaving the Bureau would never change that.

"You'll be fine without me," I said. "You've always been the better agent. You're kinder and definitely more patient. And you're going to make one hell of a team leader one day, Agent Hoffman."

He blinked, then cleared his throat. "Yeah, well, just... be happy, okay?"

I nodded. "Trying to."

We stepped forward at the same time and pulled each other into a quick, firm hug, because neither of us wanted to get sentimental in the middle of the office.

When we pulled back, Luke looked up at the door behind me. "Don't be a stranger."

I snorted. "Never."

He nodded once. "Then get out of here before I cry or, worse, hold you at gunpoint until you take that resignation back."

I laughed, clapped him on the shoulder, and walked past him, down the last few steps, and out of the unit.

Out of the building.

Out of the version of myself that I had built here.

For the first time in years, I stepped onto the sidewalk without a badge, without a case waiting for me, without the Bureau defining who I was.