Her shoulder connected beneath his chest.
She turned her hips.
Trevor went over her leg and landed flat on the mat.
The sound echoed.
Nobody laughed.
Trevor stared at the ceiling.
Nia offered him a hand.
He accepted it.
“What the hell was that?” he whispered.
“Leverage.”
He smiled despite himself.
Rourke didn't.
“Again.”
Trevor looked at the sergeant.
“Sergeant, she completed the drill.”
“Did I ask you?”
“No, Sergeant.”
“Then again.”
Trevor looked at Nia.
She nodded.
The third attempt lasted less than two seconds.
Trevor grabbed for her.
Nia slipped the grip, trapped his arm against her body, and used his forward movement to turn him.
This time he landed on his side.
The gym erupted in scattered whispers.
Rourke stared at Nia.
She stood perfectly still.
“You've done this before.”
It wasn't a question.
Nia said nothing.
Rourke stepped closer.
“I'm asking you a question.”
“Yes, Sergeant.”
“Have you done this before?”
“Yes.”
“What kind of training?”
“Defensive training.”
“What kind?”
Nia paused.
“Several kinds.”
Rourke's jaw tightened.
“That's not an answer.”
“It is the answer I have.”
A few recruits lowered their eyes to hide their smiles.
Rourke noticed.
“Everybody down!”
The recruits dropped immediately.
“Push-ups!”
They groaned.
“Now!”
Thirty-two bodies began moving.
Rourke remained standing.
Nia did her push-ups beside everyone else.
She didn't smile.
She didn't look at Trevor.
She simply counted.
One.
Two.
Three.
After fifty, recruits began slowing.
After seventy, several were shaking.
At one hundred, Rourke finally said stop.
Everyone collapsed onto the mats.
Except Nia.
She sat back on her heels.
Rourke stared at her.
“Why aren't you breathing hard?”
“I am.”
“You don't look tired.”
“I am tired.”
“Then show it.”
Nia looked at him.
“Why?”
The gym became completely silent.
Rourke stepped closer.
“Because I said so.”
Nia stood.
“Yes, Sergeant.”
She walked to the wall and sat down.
For the first time that morning, Rourke looked uncertain.
He didn't know what to do with someone who refused to play the game he had created.
After class, Trevor approached Nia near the lockers.
“You saved me from looking like an idiot.”
Nia looked confused.
“How?”
“If you had thrown me harder, I would've landed on my head.”
She smiled.
“Then I would've caught you.”
Trevor laughed.
“Seriously, Williams. Where did you learn that?”
Nia hesitated.
“From someone who believed technique mattered more than size.”
“Your father?”
“My brother.”
Trevor's smile faded.
“What happened?”
Nia looked down.
“He was a police officer.”
Trevor understood.
“I'm sorry.”
“Thank you.”
He hesitated.
“You know Rourke is going to keep coming after you.”
“I know.”
“You worried?”
Nia zipped her gym bag.
“No.”
“Why?”
She looked at him.
“Because he isn't the first person to underestimate me.”
Trevor nodded slowly.
“What happens when someone isn't intimidated by you?”
Nia picked up her bag.
“You find out what they're actually made of.”
The Woman Behind the Silence
The academy cafeteria was nearly empty that afternoon.
Nia sat alone near the window with a sandwich and a notebook.
She wasn't studying academy material.
She was studying a map.
Trevor noticed.
He walked over carrying a tray.
“Mind if I sit?”
Nia looked up.
“Sure.”
He sat.
“What are you doing?”
“Learning the city.”
“That's a map.”
“Exactly.”
Trevor laughed.
“You always this serious?”
“No.”
“When aren't you?”
“When I'm sleeping.”
He laughed again.
A moment later, another recruit joined them.
Elena Martinez.
Five-foot-eight.
Former EMT.
Sharp-eyed and outspoken.
She placed her tray down.
“I heard Rourke made you do one hundred push-ups.”
“One hundred and twenty.”
Elena stared.
“Why?”
“He wanted to make a point.”
“What point?”
Nia shrugged.
“That he could.”
Elena shook her head.
“I don't like him.”
“You're not supposed to.”
“That's not what I mean.”
Nia looked at her.
Elena lowered her voice.
“He did this to another recruit last year.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing. The recruit quit.”
Nia said nothing.
“He was good, too,” Elena continued. “Maybe better than most of us.”
“Why did he quit?”
Elena looked toward the cafeteria entrance.
“Rourke convinced him he didn't belong.”
Nia closed her notebook.
“That's dangerous.”
“What?”
“Making people believe they don't belong somewhere they're qualified to be.”
Elena studied her.
“You really don't scare easily, do you?”
“I get scared.”
“You don't show it.”
Nia looked through the window.
“That's different.”
That night, Nia returned to her apartment.
It was small.
One bedroom.
A kitchen barely large enough for two people.
A framed photograph of Andre sat on a shelf beside her academy application.
She picked it up.
Andre was smiling in the picture.
Twenty-nine years old.
Uniform pressed.
Badge shining.
He had always smiled like that.
Like the world couldn't possibly defeat him.
Nia sat on the couch.
“I passed the first week,” she whispered.
The apartment was silent.
“I think you'd laugh at me.”
She smiled.
“You'd probably say I should've thrown the big guy harder.”
Her smile faded.
Three years earlier, Andre had called her at 7:11 p.m.
She hadn't answered.
At 7:19, the police department called.
By 8:02, she was sitting in an emergency room hallway.
At 9:14, a doctor told her Andre was gone.
For months afterward, she had blamed herself for not answering.
Then she blamed the suspect.
Then the department.
Eventually she stopped blaming anyone.
She realized grief didn't become smaller when you assigned it a target.
It simply became heavier.
So she made a decision.
She would not become a police officer because she wanted to prove something.
She would become one because someone had to be ready when another family received that terrible phone call.
The next morning, she arrived at the academy forty minutes early.
Someone was already waiting in the gym.
Sergeant Rourke.
He stood alone beneath the fluorescent lights.
“You're early,” he said.
“Yes, Sergeant.”
“Why?”
“Habit.”
He studied her.
“Your brother taught you?”
Nia froze.
Rourke continued.
“Andre Williams.”
The room suddenly felt colder.
“You've read my file.”
“I read every recruit's file.”
Nia's expression hardened.
Rourke walked closer.
“Patrol officer. Killed in the line of duty. Three years ago.”