But the book didn’t describe the silence on the drive back to the precinct. Or the way Doyle stopped at a gas station and bought two Gatorades, handing her one without being asked. “You did okay today,” he said. “But tomorrow, you’ll make a mistake. And everyone will know. And they’ll still have your back if you own it.”

Her Field Training Officer, a twenty-year veteran named Sergeant Doyle, didn't greet her with a handshake. He slid a cold cup of coffee across the table. “You read that anthology for the academy?”

“De-escalate. Separate parties. Assess for primary aggressor.”

Maria remembered a passage from the anthology: Humor as a coping mechanism distances officers from trauma while reinforcing group cohesion.

Doyle nodded. “Good. Now watch.”