Of course I want her to be mine, but she shouldn't be.
The precinct was brighter than usual.
Someone had strung up cheap gold balloons.
A folding table sagged under the weight of finger food, half-melted sheet cake, and lukewarm punch.
Retirement parties were always like this—awkward, half-sincere, kind of sweet.
Elias stood by the wall, sipping bad coffee from a paper cup, watching Liana.
She was at the other end of the room, nodding politely as Luca tried to make her laugh with a terrible impression of their old captain.
It almost worked. Her lips twitched.
She was nervous.
But not panicking.
That was a win.
They hadn't brought her to many places.
But she knew this one.
The station had been her safe zone early on—when strangers were too loud, and the world too sharp.
She'd been saved by cops, so they were good in her mind, Elias guessed.
And the people here respected her space.
They knew parts of her story.
The parts Elias allowed them to know.
So when the chief's assistant invited him to tonight's party and he hesitated—
She was the one who said:
"I want to come."
He was surprised.
But he didn't question it.
Now she stood with a plate of cake, listening to people talk like she belonged.
She didn't speak much.
She never did.
But she was trying.
And trying mattered.
"Yo, Wolfe."
Elias turned.
Some young guy—mid-twenties, probably from C team—was heading over with a soda and too much swagger.
Elias gave him a nod.
The kid glanced at Liana.
Then back.
"She your girlfriend?" he asked, grinning. "She's gorgeous."
Elias froze for half a second.
It wasn't the question that threw him.
It was how fast the answer came:
"No."
Too fast.
Too sharp.
The kid blinked. "Oh. Sorry, I just assumed—"
"We're not... It's not like that," Elias said, voice clipped like a pulled pin.
Then the real problem set in:
What was it like?
He hated how the question lingered.
He hated that he didn't have an answer.
She wasn't his girlfriend.
Wasn't family.
Wasn't a friend—not the kind you grabbed beers with or sent memes to.
She was—
Liana looked over just then.
She'd heard it.
Of course she had.
They were only a few feet apart.
She didn't say anything.
But her face... shifted.
Sad?
Maybe.
Her plate hung in her hands like it suddenly weighed more than she could hold.
Elias's chest tightened.
The kid gave an awkward nod. "Well... lucky guy either way."
And disappeared into the crowd.
Liana walked back toward him.
She didn't look at him.
Didn't ask what the guy said.
She didn't have to.
"You okay?" Elias asked, throat dry.
She nodded.
Too quickly.
Her eyes stayed fixed on the plastic fork in her hand, pressing it into her thumb like it kept her tethered.
She had smiled—just a little—when the guy said "girlfriend."
He saw it.
That flicker of light in her eyes.
This can't be happening, he thought.
And then he saw the second it vanished.
Liana didn't fully understand what she was feeling.
She didn't even know what "girlfriend" really meant for her yet.
All she knew was that it felt... nice.
Nice to be seen as someone important to him.
Nice to be seen at all.
And then—
That quick, absolute "no."
It shouldn't have mattered.
He was right.
They weren't anything.
She knew that.
So why did her chest feel so heavy?
They stayed another half hour.
Congratulated the captain.
Made small talk.
Grabbed a final can of soda.
Then Elias turned to her.
"Ready to go?"
She nodded.
Didn't say much on the drive home.
He didn't push.
Like always.
Later that night, Elias sat alone in the kitchen, staring at a cooling cup of coffee.
He thought about the look on her face.
Not hurt.
Not angry.
Just... disappointed.
And she didn't even know why.
But he did.
He thought about the way he'd answered.
Quick. Firm. Final.
Like denial was easier than explanation.
Because how the hell was he supposed to explain her?
To someone else?
To himself?
She wasn't a kid anymore.
Wasn't a case file.
Wasn't a mission.
So what was she?
And what was he?
The man who raised her?
The man who fed her?
The man who never touched her but always hovered too close?
He rubbed a hand over his face.
This was getting dangerous.
Not because she did anything wrong.
But because she was starting to live.
And he—
He hadn't moved in years.
She was curious now.
Emotionally awake.
Starting to want things—normal things.
If she were any other 20-year-old girl in this country, she'd probably have had three boyfriends by now.
And that word—boyfriend—made his jaw tense.
Not because it shouldn't happen.
But because it couldn't be him.
She shouldn't be his.
Footsteps.
Down the hallway.
Then her voice behind him. Soft.
"Thanks for bringing me today."
He turned slightly.
She was in his old t-shirt, like always.
Hair down. Eyes unreadable.
"You were brave," he said. "You did well."
She nodded.
Didn't walk closer.
Didn't touch anything.
But she looked at him for a long, quiet moment.
And in her gaze—
Something shimmered. Want, maybe. Or a question.
This can't be happening.
He opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
He didn't know what to say.
She shook her head, barely.
"Good night," she whispered.
Then disappeared back down the hall.
He stared at the empty hallway long after.
She wasn't his.
And maybe she never could be.
She shouldn't be.
But it didn't stop the ache.
Or the guilt.
Or the fear that he was already too far in to ever come back out clean.