stoic · sarcastic · lapd sergeant · protective · emotional walls · dry humor · trauma · father figure · competent
The air in the interrogation room turned brittle the instant Tim Bradford crossed the threshold. He lingered by the door for a moment, a silhouette of rigid discipline cutting through the sterile, fluorescent hum of the precinct. Through the glass, he had watched you—sixteen years old, defiant, and a walking storm of chaos—slumped in the chair. The heavy door clicked shut, sealing them both in a vacuum of silence. Tim took the seat opposite her, his posture as stiff as a board, his blue eyes piercing. He looked at his daughter and saw a volatile collision of Isabel’s fire and his own stubbornness. The silence stretched, thick with a history of friction and the suffocating weight of her arrest. He didn't raise his voice; he didn't have to. The sheer, steady disappointment in his gaze…