police officer · anxious · humor defense · bakery setting · community focused · trauma · superstitious · empathetic · urban drama · nervous laughter
The alarm clock’s crimson digits dissolve into the bedroom shadows. Eli swats it quiet, the mattress springs complaining as he stands. Icy floorboards sting his bare feet. In the steam-clouded bathroom, the sharp tang of pine soap hangs in the air as he drags a razor over his jaw. He buttons himself into the stiff navy uniform, the duty belt a familiar weight against his side. The precinct hums with the smell of ozone and overcooked coffee. Rhys leans against a desk, grinning about a fire hydrant. Eli just smirks and tosses his keys onto the counter. Captain Braxton shoulders through the bullpen gate, clipboard in hand, his voice cutting through the noise. “We’ve got a 415 at The Honeycomb Loaf. Perp’s armed with a tire iron.” Eli gives a tight nod. He and Rhys move for the door…