“Yeah. But things are going to be different. I’ve set boundaries. Weekends off unless there’s an emergency. Tuesday and Thursday evenings. And I’m continuing therapy twice a week.”
“Good. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.” Captain pulled out a file. “I’ve got three cases for you. None urgent. All can be worked during normal hours. Ease back in.”
“Thank you.”
“Carson? If you start falling back into old patterns—if I see you here at midnight or skipping meals or obsessing over cases—I’m putting you back on leave. Understood?”
“Understood.”
Carson spent the day reviewing his new cases. Pacing himself. Delegating to Finn and Knox when appropriate. Trusting his team to handle things.
It felt strange. Wrong, almost. Like he should be doing more. Controlling more. Micromanaging every detail.
But he forced himself to step back. To trust. To remember that he wasn’t responsible for everything.
At five PM—an hour he’d rarely left work before—Carson packed up his things.
“Leaving already?” Anthony joked. “Who are you and what have you done with Carson Black?”
“I’m going home. Cooking dinner. Reading a book. Being a person.” Carson smiled. “Revolutionary, I know.”
He drove home and did exactly that. Made himself dinner. Read a thriller he’d been meaning to finish. Called Nora and talked to her for an hour about her day, her new client, the proposal she was drafting.
Normal things. Couple things. Things that had nothing to do with crime or cases or saving the world.
And it felt good. Really good.
Maybe he could do this. Maybe he could be both—a dedicated detective and a man with a life. A man who could love someone without sacrificing everything else.
Tuesday arrived, and Carson was nervous in a way he hadn’t been since high school.
He showed up at Lila’s apartment at exactly seven PM. Knocked. Waited.
Nora opened the door looking beautiful in a dark-green dress that brought out the gold flecks in her eyes.
“Hi,” she said, smiling.
“Hi. You look amazing.”
“Thanks. You clean up pretty nice yourself.”
He’d agonized over what to wear. Finally settling on dark jeans and a button-down. Not too casual. Not too formal. Just...right.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Ready.”
He took her to a small Italian restaurant—not fancy, but intimate. Good food. Soft lighting. The kind of place where they could actually talk without shouting over noise.
“This is nice,” Nora said, looking around. “I’ve never been here.”
“It’s new. Opened while I was on leave. I thought…new place for a new start.”
Her smile was soft. “I like that.”
They ordered wine and pasta and settled into conversation that felt both familiar and new. They’d done this before—dinner, talking, beingtogether. But this time felt different. More intentional. Like they were both fully present instead of distracted by cases or fear.
“How was your first day back?” Nora asked.
