But something flickered across Julia’s expression now as their paths crossed in the hallway. Sympathy, maybe, or concern. Something that made the tension in Maddox’s shoulders pull tighter, even though she tried to ignore it.
“Diana’s waiting for you,” Julia said, and her voice carried a note of gentleness that didn’t usually exist. “Good luck, Shaw.”
The words landed wrong between her ribs. Officers didn’t need luck for routine debriefs about successful calls. That was reserved for when something had gone sideways and when there were questions that didn’t have easy answers.
Maddox’s irritation spiked, sharp and immediate. She hated surprises, being out of the loop, and walking into situations without knowing the terrain. Her walls—already up and solid—rose higher.
“Thanks,” she said, flat and noncommittal.
Julia’s expression softened just a fraction of a second before she continued down the hall, leaving Maddox alone outside Chief Marten’s door.
The nameplate gleamed in the overhead lighting: Chief Diana Marten. Solid brass, professional, no-nonsense, just like the woman behind it. Maddox respected Diana, even if she didn’t always like her decisions. The Chief ran Phoenix Ridge PD with a directness that didn’t waste time on politics or posturing. Fair but firm, the kind of leader who backed her officers when they needed it and called them out on their shit when they deserved it. In six years, Maddox had never doubted Diana’s competence or her commitment to the department.
Still, though, that didn’t mean she wanted to be standing here right now.
She knocked on the door, two sharp raps that echoed in the quiet hallway.
“Come in,” a muffled voice said.
Maddox pushed the door open and stepped inside, pulling the door closed behind her. Chief Marten’s office reflected the woman who occupied it: organized, professional, and efficient without being cold. Commendations lined one wall in neat rows, each frame perfectly aligned. A photo of Lavender Larwood, herwife of over five years, sat on the corner of Diana’s desk, the only personal touch in an otherwise utilitarian space. The windows behind the desk framed a view of the harbor.
Diana sat behind her desk, tall and composed even while seated, her dark hair pulled back into its usual knot. Those sharp eyes tracked Maddox’s entrance with the kind of assessment that catalogued everything and missed nothing.
But Diana wasn’t alone.
A woman sat in one of the chairs, and Maddox’s gaze flicked to her automatically. Late thirties with an athletic build beneath business casual clothes, she looked like the kind of woman who probably ran marathons or climbed mountains on weekends. She had long brown hair pulled back from her face, hazel eyes that tracked Maddox’s movement with calm attention that felt different from civilian curiosity, and her shoulders were relaxed but not slouched.
Former military. Maddox clocked it immediately in her confident posture and the way she held herself, the bearing that didn’t quite fade, even years after service.
The woman stood as Maddox entered, extending her hand. “Officer Shaw, I’m Jade Kessler.”
Shaw shook it. “Shaw’s fine.”
“Sit down, Maddox,” Diana said, gesturing to the empty chair beside Jade.
Maddox sat, keeping her spine straight and her hands loose on the armrests. Her wet uniform was starting to chill against her skin, but she didn’t shift or adjust, just waited for whatever this was about to become.
Diana didn’t waste time on preamble. “You’ve had a rough month. Today’s incident was only the latest in a series of increasingly difficult calls.”
“I handled it,” Maddox said, keeping her voice level. “Clean resolution, no injuries.”
“I’m aware. You always handle it.” Diana leaned forward slightly, her expression firm but not unkind. “That’s not what concerns me.”
She paused, and in that pause Maddox felt the trap closing before Diana even finished speaking.
“This is Jade Kessler,” Diana continued. “She’s an ex-Army medic and a trauma counselor we’ve contracted with the department. We’re expanding our mental health support for officers, and Jade is here to provide trauma debriefing and ongoing counseling as needed.”
Maddox’s stomach dropped somewhere below her boots. Absolutely not. This was bureaucratic bullshit, the kind of box-checking exercise that accomplished nothing except making administrators feel like they were addressing problems that didn’t exist.
She kept her face carefully neutral. “With respect, Chief, I don’t need debriefing. The call went fine.”
Diana’s expression didn’t shift. “This isn’t about one call, Shaw. It’s the pattern.”
She pulled a file from her desk and opened it, though Maddox suspected she didn’t actually need to reference the contents. Diana knew her department inside and out.
“In the past month alone,” Diana said, “you’ve responded to three domestic disturbances involving weapons, two barricade situations, and one active shooter response. All handled professionally, all with successful outcomes, I’ll add.” She closed the file and met Maddox’s gaze directly. “You’re one of my best officers, and I want to keep you that way. Which means making sure you have the support you need to keep doing this work without burning out.”
Maddox’s jaw tightened. This felt like punishment for doing her job well, for being the officer who could handle the tough calls without falling apart afterward.
