The smell of fresh donuts fills my car, tempting me to sneak another one before I even make it to the station. But I resist. Barely. Instead, I drum my fingers on the steering wheel as I pull into the lot, watching as the early morning light spills across the asphalt. The night shift is wrapping up, and the day shift is rolling in, a steady flow of uniforms passing through the station doors. Another day, another dollar, right?

I park and grab the box of donuts from the passenger seat, holding it like a prized possession. There's nothing more predictable than a cop with donuts, but damn if these aren't worth every cliché. The minute I step inside the station, the noise and energy hit me.

"Morning, Hale!" someone calls out as I make my way down the hall, and I nod back, offering a quick smile.

Before I even make it halfway to the breakroom, two of the guys—Jackson and Ryder—materialize out of nowhere, grinning like a couple of kids at Christmas.

"Are those what I think they are?" Jackson asks, already reaching for the box.

"Hands off," I warn, but it's too late. Jackson's fingers dive into the box, pulling out a glazed donut and shoving half of it into his mouth before I can even blink.

Ryder's no better, snatching one for himself with a wink. "You know, you're making it way too easy for us, Declan. We can smell these things a mile away."

I roll my eyes but can't help the grin that tugs at my lips. "You two are like vultures. I should start charging you for these."

Jackson finishes his bite and grins. "You keep bringing these in, and we might just start paying."

Ryder nods, wiping his fingers on a napkin. "Consider it a tax for walking through the front doors."

"More like a bribe to keep you out of trouble," I shoot back, but I let it slide, knowing damn well these donuts won't last five minutes once they hit the breakroom table.

They peel off toward their desks, still chewing, and I finally make it to the breakroom. As expected, the place is a mess—empty coffee cups, half-eaten bagels, and a stack of paperwork that looks like it's been sitting there for days. I set the box on the table and take one last donut for myself, leaning against the counter as I take a bite.

The sugar hits my system like a jolt, the sweet taste familiar and comforting. I take a moment to enjoy it, savoring the brief reprieve before the day officially begins. I know it won't be long before the room fills up with hungry cops, eager to grab whatever's left.

My partner, Greg Russo, strolls in a few minutes later, his usual smirk in place. Russo's been my partner for three years now, and we've got a rhythm that works—he's the loudmouth with a penchant for stirring the pot, and I'm the one who reels him back in before he takes it too far.

"Hey, man," he greets me, eyeing the donut in my hand. "Don't tell me you let those hyenas out there get to the donuts before I did."

I hold up the box, showing him the few that are left. "Help yourself. But you might have to fight Ryder for the last jelly-filled."

Russo laughs, grabbing a donut and sinking into the chair across from me. "I'd take him down in a heartbeat. Jelly-filled's worth the risk."

I chuckle, finishing off my donut as Russo devours his. The breakroom's starting to fill up now, guys trickling in to grab their coffee and chat before heading out on patrol. It's the usual routine, the same faces, the same conversations. But it's comfortable, like slipping into a well-worn jacket.

"So," Russo says between bites, "you got anything exciting lined up for today, or are we just doing the usual rounds?"

"Probably the usual," I reply, though there's always that unpredictable edge to the job. You never really know what the day's going to throw at you until you're in the thick of it. "But hey, who knows? Maybe we'll get lucky and something interesting will come up."

Russo grins, raising his coffee cup in a mock toast. "Here's to hoping for a little action, then. God knows I could use it."

I nod in agreement, but I know better than to wish too hard for excitement. Because when things get interesting in this line of work, it's usually at someone else's expense.

We finish our coffee and head out to the parking lot, where our cruiser is waiting. The morning air is crisp, the sun just starting to climb higher in the sky, casting long shadows across the asphalt. It's going to be another hot day, the kind that makes you sweat through your uniform before you've even hit noon.

Russo slides into the passenger seat as I take the wheel, our routine as familiar as breathing. The radio crackles to life with the dispatcher's voice, and I flip on the lights, pulling out of the lot and into the flow of traffic.

Patrol's mostly quiet, the streets just beginning to wake up. We pass by the usual spots—the gas station where the same group of kids loiters every morning, the park where the elderly couples take their early walks, the convenience store that's been robbed so many times we've lost count. It's all part of the territory, the same routes we've driven a hundred times over.

But there's a comfort in the repetition, in knowing the landscape like the back of your hand. It's a kind of familiarity that lets you notice the small things—the way the kids scatter when they see the cruiser, the way the store owner gives you a nod as you drive by, the way the sun reflects off the windows of the buildings, casting everything in a golden hue.

Russo flips through the radio stations as we drive, settling on some classic rock that fills the car with the sounds of guitars and drums. It's background noise, a steady beat that keeps the silence from feeling too heavy.

"Hey, you hear anything from that nurse crush of yours?" Russo asks casually as we pull up to a red light.

I glance over at him, catching the teasing glint in his eyes. "Valarie?"

He nods, smirking. "Yeah, Valarie. You finally worked up the nerve to ask her out, right? Or are you still hanging in the wind?"

I shrug, trying to play it off even as my mind drifts to her—the way she looked at me this morning, how her smile seemed to light up the whole damn bakery. "Yeah, I asked her out. But it's nothing serious."

Russo snorts, giving me a sideways glance. "Nothing serious, huh? So, that why you've been walking around with that goofy grin on your face lately? 'Cause she's just a casual thing?"

"Goofy grin, my ass," I mutter, though I can't help the small smile tugging at my lips. "She said yes, but we're just taking it slow. No big deal. We have our first date Saturday."

Russo's eyebrows shoot up in mock surprise, and he lets out a low whistle. "Well, damn. Didn't think you'd actually pull it off. Good for you, man."

I wave him off, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. "It's just a date. We'll see where it goes."

"Right, right," Russo says, but the grin on his face tells me he's not buying it. "Just seeing where it goes. Sure thing."

The light turns green, and I press on the gas, the conversation fading into the background as we continue our patrol. But the thought of Valarie lingers, her face flashing in my mind every time there's a lull in the chatter, every time we pass by a quiet stretch of road.

There's something about her, something that's got me twisted up in ways I didn't expect. She's not like the other women I've ever met. She's so selfless, so smart. And the way she looks at me, like she's trying to figure me out, like she sees something in me worth knowing... it's different. It's something I haven't felt in a long time.

But I push those thoughts aside, focusing on the task at hand. I've got a job to do, and there's no room for distractions out here.

We spend the rest of the morning responding to a few minor calls—a fender bender near the shopping district, a noise complaint that turns out to be nothing more than a couple of kids playing their music too loud, and a shoplifting incident at a convenience store that's resolved before we even get there. It's the usual stuff, nothing too exciting, but it keeps us busy, keeps us moving.

By the time lunch rolls around, we're both ready for a break. We hit up a small diner on the edge of town, the kind of place that's been around forever and hasn't changed a bit. The waitress knows us by name, and she's already pouring our coffee by the time we slide into the booth.

"Same as usual?" she asks, her pen poised over her notepad.

"Yeah, thanks, Carol," I say, giving her a smile. "You're the best."

She winks at me before heading back to the kitchen, and Russo leans back in his seat, stretching his arms over his head. "Man, I'm starving. Think I burned off that donut two hours ago."

I laugh, shaking my head. "You've got the metabolism of a teenager. I'm jealous."

Russo grins. "Perks of the job, man. Keeps us in shape."

The food arrives quickly—burgers and fries, nothing fancy, but it hits the spot. When we finish, we head back out on patrol, the afternoon sun beating down on us as we drive through the city. The streets are busier now, people going about their day, unaware of the undercurrent of tension that always seems to run through the city. It's our job to keep that tension in check, to be the ones who step in when things start to unravel.

The rest of the day passes in a blur of routine calls and paperwork. By the time our shift ends, I'm more than ready to head home, to shed the weight of the day and sink into the quiet solitude of my own space.

I drop Russo off at the station and make my way home, the setting sun casting long shadows across the road. My apartment's not far from the station, a small place on the third floor of an old building that's seen better days. It's nothing fancy, just a one-bedroom with a decent view of the city skyline and enough space to make it feel like home.

I park in the lot and make my way upstairs, the familiar creak of the floorboards beneath my boots a welcome sound. Inside, the apartment is quiet.

I toss my keys on the kitchen counter and shrug out of my uniform, hanging it up in the small closet by the door. The place is clean, tidy, just the way I like it. There's a small couch in the living room, a coffee table littered with old magazines and a few takeout containers I haven't gotten around to throwing out yet. The walls are bare, save for a few framed photos of family and friends, and the only real decoration is the guitar propped up in the corner, an old friend I don't get to play as often as I'd like.

I head to the kitchen and grab a beer from the fridge, popping the cap off and taking a long, satisfying drink. The cold liquid is a welcome relief after the heat of the day, and I lean against the counter, letting out a slow breath as the tension in my shoulders starts to ease.

It's only when I'm halfway through the beer that my thoughts drift back to Valarie, to the way her eyes lit up when she saw me at the bakery, the way she blushed when I flirted with her. There's something about her that pulls me in, something that makes me want to get closer, to see what's beneath that calm, composed exterior.

I finish the beer and toss the bottle in the recycling, running a hand through my hair as I make my way to the bedroom. The bed is unmade, the sheets rumpled from the last time I actually got a full night's sleep, and I collapse onto it with a groan, the day catching up to me all at once.