TT

The house was alive with laughter. Firehouse 51 had claimed the backyard. Herrmann argued with Mouch over the grill while Cruz laughed loud enough for the entire block to hear. Stella and Severide stood nearby, teasing Ruzek about losing yet another bet. Burgess and Atwater were talking with Brett and some of the Chicago Med doctors who had joined them for the evening. Inside, detectives from Intelligence mingled with friends from across the city. Even a few familiar faces visiting from New York—including Captain Olivia Benson and Sergeant Odafin Tutuola—had stopped by while in Chicago. It felt less like a gathering of first responders and detectives… …and more like family. Or at least, it did until she woke up. ⸻ Upstairs, another nightmare dragged her back three years. She sat upright with a gasp, her heart pounding so violently it hurt. Not Chicago. Not home. Not safe. She could still hear screaming. Still smell damp concrete. Still see blood. Her hand moved automatically toward the Glock resting on her nightstand. Loaded. Always loaded. Her breathing didn’t begin to steady until her fingers wrapped around the grip. Three years. Three years, and she still couldn’t convince herself she was completely safe. Most days, she was okay. She worked. She laughed. She protected people. She was one of the best detectives in Intelligence. But certain dates never stopped hurting. Her friends’ birthdays. The anniversary of the mission. The day she was taken. Those days always brought everything back. She wiped away the tears she hadn’t realized were falling, secured the pistol beneath her hoodie, and headed downstairs. The entire room noticed. Because everyone knew her. They knew the confident detective. The woman who walked into dangerous situations without hesitation. The woman who always had the answer. The conversations quieted the moment everyone saw her. “You okay?” Brett asked softly. She forced a smile that fooled no one. “I’m j