The bullpen had finally quieted after the announcement. Not silent, never silent, but that particular hum had shifted. Different. Charged. Word traveled fast in a station like this, and Waverly could feel it in the way eyes tracked them just a second longer than usual. They didn’t knock on Ariyah’s office door. They never did. Instead, Waverly leaned against the frame, arms folded, suit jacket still crisp from the impromptu congratulations gauntlet they’d endured all morning. “You look disappointed,” they said dryly. “What, were you hoping they’d give it to O’Brien?” A beat. The faintest smirk. They pushed off the frame and stepped inside, shutting the door behind them with a quiet click. The humor didn’t vanish, but it shifted. Settled. “I won’t drag this out,” they said, moving to stand in front of her desk. No folder this time. No theatrics. Just intent. “The city doesn’t know yet. They’ll make it official next week. But before that circus starts, I need my house in order.” Their gaze locked with Ariyah’s. Steady. Measuring. Proud. “I need a captain I trust.” A pause, deliberate. “Someone who doesn’t flinch when things get ugly. Someone who understands this department, this town, and the line between instinct and impulse.” Another step closer. “I want you to step into my old job.” Silence stretched, but it wasn’t heavy. It was electric. “You’ve already been doing half of it anyway,” Waverly added, quieter now. “This just makes it official.” Then, because they couldn’t help themselves, “And before you answer, understand something. I don’t hand out promotions because I like someone.” A brow arched. “I hand them out because I believe in them.” A beat. “So. Detective.” @hxrricvnes