First Day
Jessica Vale paused outside the main precinct doors.
The city was still wet from last night's rain, and water ran down the stone steps beneath her shoes. She pulled in a slow breath, trying to steady her nerves. This was her first real day as a detective-in-training.
When she pushed the glass doors open, the precinct buzzed with life. Phones rang, officers hurried past carrying files, and the smell of strong coffee hung in the air. Jessica's eyes widened as she looked around.
The main floor looked exactly like she had imagined—wide rooms, high ceilings, walls of glass that gave everything a modern glow. Desks lined up neatly with polished computers. Detectives in pressed suits moved confidently from one place to another, as if the entire floor was part of a TV show.
Her stomach fluttered. This is it. My unit's here.
A door opened across the hall, and a tall man in a gray suit stepped out. His shoulders were square, his walk calm but commanding. Jessica recognized him instantly from her first orientation—Captain Raymond Holt.
"Detective Vale," he said, his voice deep and even.
"Yes, sir," Jessica said quickly, standing straighter.
He gave a single nod. "Follow me."
Jessica hurried after him as he walked across the polished floor. She expected him to stop at one of the glass offices, but he didn't. He moved past them, toward the back of the building. Holt opened a side door and led her into a narrower hallway. The sounds of the main precinct began to fade behind them.
The walls here were older, lined with bulletin boards instead of glass. The floors creaked a little underfoot, and the air smelled of old paper and dust. They went down a flight of worn stairs. Jessica's earlier excitement dimmed slightly.
At the bottom, Holt opened a door.
"This," he said, "is homicide."
The room inside was nothing like the shining precinct upstairs. The ceiling was low, the lights buzzing faintly. Desks filled the small space, none of them matching. Piles of files leaned on some, coffee cups crowded others. A radiator hissed in the corner like it was angry at being alive.
Jessica blinked. This wasn't the world of glass walls and neat rows she had pictured. This was smaller. Messier. Real.
Three detectives were already there.
At the first desk sat Ren Torres, leaning back in his chair with his boots resting on a stack of papers. His tie was loose, his hair still damp from the rain, and his grin wide as if he had just told himself a joke. His desk was a battlefield of coffee rings, papers, and half-eaten snacks.
Across from him was Naomi Raines. She sat upright, her posture so sharp it almost looked painful. Her desk was perfectly ordered—files stacked neatly, pens arranged in a cup. The only personal thing was a photo of a young boy, about seven or eight, with a bright smile that filled the frame.
In the corner sat Stanly Marlowe, his shoulders broad under a tan coat. He was hidden behind a newspaper, his glasses low on his nose. His desk carried a framed picture of two boys, one about ten, the other in his early teens. Both smiled at the camera, leaning against their father.
None of them looked up when Jessica entered.
Holt's voice cut through the room. "Detectives. This is Detective-in-Training Jessica Vale. She's joining us starting today."
Ren lowered his boots with a thud and gave her a quick wave. "Welcome to the circus."
Naomi looked up, her sharp eyes scanning Jessica in one glance before she gave a small nod and returned to her file.
Stanly set his paper down long enough to nod once. "Vale." His voice was rough but steady.
Jessica shifted her bag on her shoulder. "Detectives."
Holt gestured toward Naomi. "Detective Raines will oversee your training. You'll observe, you'll learn, and you'll work when asked. Earn your place here."
"Yes, sir," Jessica said firmly.
Without another word, Holt turned and walked back out, his office door closing with a soft thud.
Naomi gestured toward the empty desk beside hers. Jessica moved to it, setting her bag down carefully. The desk was scratched and dented, with one drawer that didn't close properly. It wasn't much—but it was hers now.
She pulled out her notebook and sat. Her eyes moved across the room again, this time slower. Naomi's fingers brushed her son's photo without her noticing, a soft unconscious habit. Stanly adjusted the frame of his boys before tucking his paper neatly away. Ren leaned back in his chair again, spinning his pen like he had nothing else to do.
Jessica tucked the details into her mind. Know the people, learn the place.
Ren caught her glance and smirked. "Rookie's already studying us."
"Better than you studying case files," Naomi replied without looking up.
Stanly let out a quiet chuckle. Jessica bent over her notebook, hiding her smile.
The squad room fell into a steady rhythm—the buzz of phones, the click of typewriter keys, the scratch of pens. Jessica had just begun writing a note to herself when Naomi's phone rang.
She picked it up, her posture stiffening as she listened.
After a few short words, Naomi hung up. Her face didn't change, but her voice was sharp. "Body. Riverside."
The shift in the room was instant. Ren grabbed his coat, Stanly folded his paper and stood, and Naomi was already heading for the door.
Jessica froze for half a second. Her first call.
Naomi looked back, her gaze locking on Jessica. "Vale. You're with us."
Jessica's heart jumped. She pulled her coat on, stuffed her notebook into her bag, and hurried after them.
The homicide unit door slammed shut behind her. The gray morning outside was waiting.
Her first case had begun.