Chapter 1

The memory was seared into my brain like a brand. The stale air of the abandoned warehouse, the frantic, terrified breathing of the hostage, Chris Walker, and the shrill, righteous voice of the rookie, Emily Davis.

That was my first life. A life that ended in disgrace, all because of her.

"Let me talk to him! I can calm him down," Emily had insisted, her eyes wide and pleading. She was playing the part of the pure-hearted angel, the one who could solve everything with kindness.

I had snapped back, "Stay put, Davis. That's an order. We follow protocol."

But she never listened to protocol. She only listened to the audience she imagined was watching, an audience that would adore her for her bravery. She broke formation, stepping into the open. "Please, just let the boy go. We can talk about this."

The kidnapper, already on edge, panicked. A single gunshot echoed through the warehouse. Chris Walker, a college kid with his whole life ahead of him, slumped to the floor.

It was over in a second.

And then Emily started to cry. Not quiet sobs, but loud, gut-wrenching wails, as if she were the biggest victim. She collapsed, a damsel in distress, and our colleagues rushed to her side.

"It's not your fault, Emily," Officer Mark Riley said, patting her back.

"I just wanted to help," she whimpered into his shoulder.

I stared at the cooling body of Chris Walker, then at the scene of manufactured sympathy. Rage, cold and hard, filled my chest. "You wanted to help? You got him killed. You broke every rule in the book."

Emily looked up at me, her face a mask of tear-streaked innocence. "Why are you so mean, Sarah? I was just trying to save a life."

She then did something I'll never forget. She stumbled toward the wall and banged her head against it, not hard enough to do real damage, but enough to look dramatically desperate. "It should have been me!"

Lieutenant David Miller, my superior, rushed to stop her. He cradled her like a child. "That's enough, Emily. You're in shock." He then turned his cold eyes on me. "Jenkins, what the hell is wrong with you? Can't you see she's suffering?"

The department needed a scapegoat. The Walker family was screaming for justice, the media was having a field day. It was easier to blame the cold, no-nonsense veteran, Sarah Jenkins, than the sweet, innocent rookie who "just wanted to help."

They threw me to the wolves. My career was ruined. My name was mud. I died with that weight on my soul.

Until I opened my eyes.

The same stale air. The same sense of dread. I was back in the warehouse, moments before everything went wrong. I could hear Chris Walker's terrified whimpers from the other room.

Beside me, Emily Davis was fidgeting, her eyes filled with that same dangerous, self-serving ambition.

"I'm going to talk to him," she whispered, her voice trembling with fake emotion. "My heart tells me it's the right thing to do."

She was repeating the exact same words. It was all happening again.

But not this time.

Just as she took her first step out of cover, I grabbed her arm. My grip was like iron.

"What are you doing, Sarah?" she hissed, trying to pull away.

"Saving a life," I said, my voice flat and cold. I didn't wait for her to argue. I moved, a blur of motion, flanking the room from the opposite side, using the shadows as I' d been trained. Two shots, clean and precise, disarmed the kidnapper without killing him. I secured the suspect and then went to the hostage.

"Chris, it's okay. You're safe now," I said, cutting his bonds.

He was shaking, but he was alive.

I brought him out, past the secured suspect, and toward the rest of the team. Emily was standing where I left her, her face a storm of confusion and fury.

"You could have gotten him killed!" she shrieked the moment she saw me. "That was reckless!"

I ignored her, focusing on getting Chris to the paramedics waiting outside. "The scene is secure. Let's move out."

"I'm talking to you, Sarah!" Emily grabbed my arm again, trying to stop me. Her nails dug into my skin. "You ignored a fellow officer! You were just trying to get all the glory for yourself!"

This time, I didn't hesitate. I didn't think about the consequences or the optics. I just acted.

My hand moved so fast she didn't see it coming. The slap echoed in the quiet warehouse.

Her head snapped to the side. Her eyes widened in disbelief.

I leaned in close, my voice a low growl. "Was I trying to get the glory, or were you trying to get another person killed for a photo op, Emily?"

She stared at me, her mouth hanging open. Then, right on cue, her lower lip began to tremble. Her eyes filled with tears. "You... you hit me."

The sound of footsteps came from behind us. Mark Riley and Jessica Chen, drawn by the noise, rounded the corner. They saw Emily, tears streaming down her face, holding her red cheek. They saw me, standing over her, my face like stone.

"What the hell, Sarah?" Mark shouted.

Emily's sob turned into a full-blown wail. It was the exact same performance as last time.

"She hit me," Emily cried, pointing a trembling finger at me. "Just because I questioned her methods. Are all lives not equal? Is the kidnapper's life not a life?"

The sheer absurdity of her words, the twisted, self-serving logic she was spewing to paint herself as a saint, made something snap inside me.

I slapped her again. Harder this time.

The sound was sharp, definitive. It cut through her fake crying and left a stunned silence in its wake.