Some therapists might call it coddling, but Jade called it effective.
A knock at the door pulled her attention. “Come in,” she said.
Captain Julia Scott stepped inside, steaming coffee mug in hand, offering a warm smile. “Morning, Jade. Settling in okay?”
“Getting there.” Jade gestured to the chairs. “Still making it functional.”
Julia glanced around as she took in the room, nodding in approval. “Looks good. Better than when we used it for budget meetings.” She leaned against the doorframe, casual but not intrusive. “Your first session with Shaw’s today, right?”
“Yeah, this afternoon.”
“She’s a tough nut.” Julia’s tone held affection beneath the warning. “Good officer, really good, but she keeps to herself and doesn’t open up easily.”
“Chief Marten mentioned.” Jade kept her voice neutral and professional. “I’m prepared for resistance.”
“She’ll test you.” Julia took a sip of coffee that had to have burned on its way down. “Don’t take it personally. She tests everyone. It’s not about you; she just needs to stay in control and feel like she’s choosing to be there, even when she’s not.”
Jade appreciated the insight. Julia struck her as someone who paid attention and cared about her officers without hovering. “How long have you worked with her?”
“Five years, since she transferred to K-9. We have mutual respect, but I wouldn’t say we’re close. Truthfully, Maddox doesn’t really do close, except with Zeus.” Julia’s expression softened slightly.
“We need her, though, and can’t afford to lose her to burnout. She won’t admit she’s struggling, but…we all see it.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Jade said and meant it.
“That’s all anyone can ask.” Julia straightened, offering a small smile. “Let me know if you need anything, and welcome to Phoenix Ridge, officially. We’re really glad to have you.”
After Julia left, Jade returned to the window. The parking lot was busier now with shift change and officers arriving for the afternoon rotation. She spotted the K-9 units easily, the specialized vehicles marked and equipped, and she couldn’t help but wonder which was Maddox’s.
She turned back to her desk and pulled out Maddox’s file again, flipping to the most recent incident report: the domestic call from last week, the one that had prompted Chief Marten to mandate the debriefing. Jade read through it slowly, chewing over each word and committing them to memory.
Dispatch received a call at 14:07 regarding domestic disturbance at 2847 Harbor View Road. Subject male, intoxicated and armed with a rifle, threatening his ex-girlfriend. K-9 unit responded first on scene and found subject barricaded inside the residence. Officer Shaw established the perimeter and coordinated a backup response. Subject refused to exit. K-9 Zeus was deployed for apprehension. Subject secured without injury and weapon was confiscated. Ex-girlfriend was unharmed. Scene cleared at 15:42.
It was professional and thorough, but there was no mention of Maddox’s fear or split-second decisions that could’ve gone wrong. No acknowledgement that a man with a rifle could’ve fired at her before Zeus reached him, that Maddox could’ve been making very different phone calls if the day had tipped sideways.
Just the facts.
Jade closed the file and set it aside. She’d worked with enough first responders to read between those lines. The tighter the language, the harder the call. The more controlled the report, the more control it had taken to write it.
Maddox Shaw was good at her job. No question about that.
But being good at the job wasn’t ever in question, and it didn’t mean it wasn’t chipping away at her bit by bit.
Jade checked her phone: 1:47pm, only thirteen minutes before the session. She settled into one of the chairs, avoiding the desk and instead opting for a space where she could sit with Maddox, and took a slow, grounding breath to center herself. This was her sacred ritual, the preparation thatreallymattered. She knew she needed to be fully grounded to hold space for someone else’s weight.
The sounds of the police station continued beyond her door: phones ringing, conversations, footsteps in the hallway. All normal and familiar, the world still turning while people did their jobs and carried their burdens and tried to make it through another shift.
Maddox would probably be exactly on time, she reasoned. Not late—that would be admitting resistance—but not early because it’d suggest eagerness. Exactly on time meant staying in control and showing up because she had to but not a minute more than required.
Jade understood that. Respected it, even.
You couldn’t force someone to heal. You could only show up, offer space, and wait for them to decide they were ready to step into it.
The small black clock on the wall ticked closer toward two. Jade breathed, steady and calm, and prepared to do what she’d always done: meet someone in their pain, sit with them in their darkness, and refuse to look away.
Three minutes before the session started, Jade saw movement near the K-9 building. She’d been reviewing notes and letting her mind settle into the calm focus she needed, but her attention caught on the figure crossing the lot—dark uniform, purposeful stride, unmistakable even at a distance.
Maddox.
