[James – POV]
The precinct feels heavier today. Not because of the gray clouds pressing against the windows, but because you can almost taste the tension lingering in the bullpen.
Jake is pacing near his desk, hands stuffed deep into his jacket pockets like he's trying to hold himself together. I watch him for a moment, catching that look in his eyes—the one that means the thrill of the chase has gone cold.
The slump.
I know it well. In the Army, it was the quiet hours after an operation when you question every move you made. In the CIA, it was the days stuck in an office, waiting for a lead, for a break. Here, it's the frustration of a case that drags on, refusing to budge.
I cross over, hands calm at my sides. "You okay?"
Jake shrugs, but I know that's not the answer. "Case is stuck. No leads. No witnesses willing to talk. No graffiti artist to catch."
"Sometimes," I say, "it's not about chasing the big catch. Sometimes, it's about waiting. Watching. Preparing."
He looks at me like I'm speaking a different language. Maybe I am. But I don't push.
[Rosa – POV]
I'm cleaning my gun at my desk when James walks past, the way he always does—quiet, focused, like he carries a world behind his eyes he doesn't share.
The squad's been in a funk for days. Jake's energy is dipping, Boyle's optimism is... well, still there, but fragile. Even Amy's started double-checking evidence twice.
James, though, doesn't seem bothered. He just moves with purpose, methodically ticking off his mental checklist.
I catch him watching Jake, not with judgment, but concern. Something about that makes me want to see him differently.
It's stupid, but I find myself wondering what his story really is.
[Jake – POV]
Boyle tries to cheer me up with one of his experimental recipes, but I'm not hungry.
"C'mon, man. You just need a win," Boyle says, holding up a container labeled "Spicy Meatball Surprise."
"Yeah, but what if there's no win?" I say, running a hand through my hair. "What if the criminals are just smarter than me?"
James throws a glance my way, calm and steady as always. "Maybe the problem isn't that the criminals are smarter than you."
"What do you mean?"
"Maybe the problem is how you're looking for him."
That sounds like one of those cryptic CIA things. I'm not sure if it's helpful or annoying.
[James – POV]
That afternoon, Holt calls me into his office.
His eyes are sharp, his voice quiet but firm.
"You're handling the slump better than your brother," he says. "Patience isn't easy in this line of work, but it's necessary."
"I've been in worse slumps," I admit.
He nods slowly. "I have a feeling this precinct is going to test you in ways you haven't experienced before."
I don't tell him about the nightmares I still have from those darker days. The ones where patience cost lives.
[Rosa – POV]
I catch James in the hallway later, alone, staring at a crime scene photo.
"Got a theory?" I ask, crossing my arms.
He shrugs. "Maybe. Just thinking."
He's not one for small talk, but there's something genuine in his quiet focus.
I nod slowly. "Keep me posted."
The corner of his mouth twitches like a ghost of a smile.
[Jake – POV]
By the end of the day, I'm ready to admit that James might be right. I'm too impatient, too eager to jump in.
He pulls me aside as we leave the precinct.
"Sometimes, Jake, the best move is to wait and watch."
I want to argue, but something in his voice stops me.
Maybe this slump isn't about the case. Maybe it's about me.
[James – POV]
That night, I lie awake thinking about the precinct, the case, and the unspoken things between me and my brother.
Rosa's brief glance, Holt's quiet words—they all add up to something I'm not ready to face yet.
But I will.
Because in this life, I don't get do-overs.