Chapter Text
Sabrina was halfway done with her book and working through a second pop tart when Lucifer wandered into the kitchen, dressed in a very on-brand black and red robe that looked exactly how she imagined the devil’s sleepwear would be (though if she was being honest, it seemed less “infernal chic” and more “latest murder victim in an Agatha Christie novel”). She brought the book up closer to her face, pretending she hadn’t noticed him, but by then, his irritatingly chipper voice had already cut through the air and she had no other choice but to set it back down with a silent groan.
“Sabrina!” He grinned, rounding the table and pulling out the seat next to hers. She wasn’t much of a morning person (not many witches were), and everyone within a ten-mile radius could usually tell, but he didn’t seem to share the same set of eyes and basic observation skills. “Slept well, darling?”
She knew that he was well aware of how soundly she slept (mostly because of whatever dream-altering magic he used on her last night), and she hated that he had to ask, as if he didn’t have enough reason to be smug already. He was probably just going to use the whole thing as an excuse to bring up how nice and considerate he’d been, and how Sabrina owed him some gratitude now because of it. The question in itself seemed innocent enough, but she had him all figured out. It would take a lot more than a good night’s sleep to play Sabrina Spellman like that.
“Yes, surprisingly,” she admitted, a polite smile on her face, though her eyes were trained on him like a hawk, just waiting for him to slip and confirm her suspicions. “That was probably the longest sleep I’ve had in months.”
Lucifer smiled back in relief as if it were the best thing he’d heard all morning, and she was slightly taken aback by how genuine it looked. “Hmm. That’s good. Must have been the Egyptian Cotton sheets. They’ve done me wonders, actually. I had them shipped from-”
He started trailing off about thread counts and the underground fabric market, but she stopped listening halfway through.
(If he wanted to win her over and play the good guy, he had the perfect chance. For all he knew, Sabrina was fast asleep and knew nothing about how he saved her from another round of nightmares, and the reveal of what he’d done for her would’ve put him in a new light, made him seem less like a stranger and more like a father. In between his rambling about bedsheets and special cotton plants, though, he never said a word about it, and for the life of her, Sabrina couldn’t figure out why).
“Yeah.” The young witch was still looking at him curiously, trying to piece his ulterior motive together but came up with nothing. (The more she contemplated it, the more it seemed that he might have just really cared, and she wasn’t prepared for it at the slightest). “That must’ve been it.”
She looked far too distressed for someone who’s allegedly had a good night’s rest, Lucifer observed, but he just brushed it off as teenage mood swings. The parenting book he downloaded on his phone last night after her little episode said it was normal (her hell-related tantrums, probably less so, but he was yet to find a book that covered the topic).
His eyes darted around the table, looking for anything that could steer the conversation towards more engaging waters (he must’ve missed out on some fundamental hours of sleep while browsing through that decidedly unhelpful parenting manual, if the history of Egyptian bed covers was the best he could come up with on short notice) before landing on the stack of sugary pastries on her plate.
“Ah, I see you’ve found Maze’s secret pop tart stash.”
She’s only known the demon two days, but she was pretty sure the violent ball of sarcastic rage that almost made the waiter trip over his own feet during yesterday’s lunch wasn’t the type to hoard overly-sweet breakfast pastries.
“These kid snacks belong to Maze?” She frowned, holding up the half-finished piece and taking a bite. “I find that pretty hard to believe.”
“Well, not exactly hers, per se,” he conceded. “They did belong to a muffin-topped health guru first before she stole them out of his house. But since his untimely demise, I don’t think he’s been missing them all that much.”
“That makes sense,” she nodded through a mouthful of crumbling pastry.
Lucifer had expected her to stop eating altogether, or perhaps even take a second or two to process what she’s heard before reaching for another bite. In a matter of seconds, though, she was back to reading whatever book she’d snuck from his library, one hand on the page, the other on the toasted strawberry atrocity, completely unfazed.
“It doesn’t bother you, then?” He frowned. “That you’re eating a dead man’s pop tarts?”
“You ever had long pig?” She asked seemingly out of the blue, not looking up from the open book on the table.
He arched a brow, tugging on the lapels of his robe (he wasn’t sure what human flesh had to do with anything, really, when he was just trying to start an innocent conversation about empty-caloried breakfast choices).
“Can’t say that I have.”
Sabrina glanced at him knowingly and it was easy to forget that there used to be anger there (now, there was only a silent tentativeness and an odd sort of surprise that she was actually willing to give him a chance).
“Well, when you live in a mortuary with cannibalistic witches and the whole town’s general preference for closed caskets, you’re gonna have to stomach it once or twice.” Her lips tugged faintly at the thought (she was never the most enthusiastic partaker – she usually avoided it when she could – but it was often amusing, the lengths her aunts would go through to sneak the so-called rare delicacy under her nose). “At this point, I’ve had dead man’s everything. Well, the good parts, at least. The more…unsavory pieces usually get sealed up in jars at the greenhouse.”
She held up another pastry to her mouth and Lucifer couldn’t say he wasn’t slightly horrified (all he could think about now was that damned long pig, and – Oh Dad, he was going to have to throw away the perfectly good bacon in his fridge).
“So, really, his pop tarts are the least of my concern.” She finished with a nonchalant shrug.
(Occasional cannibalism wasn’t the type of easy morning conversation he’d hoped to share with his daughter, to be honest, though he couldn’t very well blame her for it. He’d stopped keeping tabs on his church after his deal with Edward, but ever since the insolent bloke found his way into an early death, he should’ve expected them to relapse into their old ways of flesh-eating and sacrifices, and now that he thought about it, probably those blasted goats again, too. He should probably look into that soon).
“Right. Well,” he grimaced at the thought. “That’s a ‘no’ on stuffed pork chops for lunch, then, I assume?”
She made an amused sound from the back of her throat, and she could very well have been smiling, though Lucifer couldn’t quite tell with her face hidden behind that infernal book again. Nevertheless, it was the most positive reaction he’d gotten from her since they’d met, and he could recognize small victories when he saw them.
He squinted his eyes at the spine of the hardback, trying to make out whatever it was that caught so much of her attention. (It was either well-written or incredibly raunchy – there was no in between - if a teenage girl found it more interesting than the devil himself who was sitting right in front of her).
“Novem tibi orbibus et de inferno,” Lucifer read aloud. “A bit on the nose, don’t you think, darling?”
He’d stopped by the study earlier to see what she’d taken, and noticed empty spaces in the shelves between Dante and Milton. He was expecting her to snag the first edition Shakespeares or maybe the scandalous personal journals of Emily Dickinson, but the more he thought about it, it shouldn’t have been a surprise that she went for something old and Latin and straight out of hell.
Sabrina scoffed, flipping to another page. “Well, you’re obviously not gonna help me open the gates. Might as well find new ways to help myself.”
(So far, she’d read through two grimoires and three ancient accounts of the pit, but to no avail. They all followed the same basic pattern – eternal anguish, torturous demons, lost souls – and the writers only ever seemed to see the place because of a quick brush with death, which, as she’d recently discovered, wasn’t applicable to her for more than a few seconds. Maybe she’d have better luck with the Sumerian scrolls she found stacked beside Lucifer’s desk, but even those would be tricky to translate without Ambrose’s help. All in all, it was safe to say that her research had hit a dead end at the moment, but she’d sooner take a wrecking ball to the Greendale mines than admit that to her glaringly unsupportive father).
Lucifer sighed and reached for a cigarette on the kitchen counter (he made no move to light it, just kept the lone stick dangling between two fingers). He should have expected that she would find a way to circle things back to hell (quite literally) until she got what she wanted. She was his daughter, after all. Still, it was eight in the bloody morning and he hadn’t had his vodka-laced coffee and did she really have nothing better to do with her time?
“Look, Sabrina…” He plucked the ancient tome right out of her hands, and she looked up at him, affronted. He set it on the far side of the table, beyond the reach of her non-celestially short arms (thank you, Diana), and the girl only slumped back in her chair, arms crossed and glaring at him with all the heat of a thousand charred park muggers. “I had a little chat with Maze yesterday, and she told me how you wanted to come to L.A. for a vacation. Wind down and see the sights and all that.”
“She what?” The witch snapped.
(Okay, so maybe she shouldn’t have rambled off to a demon about her vacation plans if she didn’t want her father to know. Yeah, Maze was funny and cool and liberal with the expensive champagne, but at the end of the day, she still worked for Lucifer. It was pretty stupid of her to overlook that, even for the few short minutes when there was nothing but bad country music on the radio and the demon asked her what she was doing in Los Angeles).
“Now, don’t be mad at Maze, she was just doing her job,” Lucifer said placatingly, holding up a finger. “You should be more mad at yourself, really, wasting a perfectly good day reading this…” He gestured vaguely at the Latin tome. “This drivel.”
“Need I remind you, that drivel belongs to you!” She bit back, brows furrowed. “Besides, do you really think you should be the one telling me to be mad at myself? Technically, I should still be mad at you!”
(“But I’m not.” The unspoken words hung in the air. Stupid dream wiping and Egyptian trivia and annoying cannibal jokes. “Dammit, why the heaven am I not?”)
Lucifer exhaled slowly and tried to fight against the growing urge to just gather up all of his hellish books and set them on fire (maybe then, Sabrina would give it a rest, though he had a sinking feeling she’d just walk straight into the flames and try to salvage every page she could).
“Listen, witchling,” he ran a hand down his face. “I’m well aware that once you set your mind to something, no force in heaven, hell, or otherwise can stop you.”
Sabrina gave him a conflicted look, not quite sure where this was going. “Yeah,” she said slowly. “Glad we agree on that. Seriously, though, I just want to get back to my research.”
She made a move to summon back the book with the twirl of a finger, but Lucifer only caught it mid-air and tucked it under his arm. With a sly grin (she was good, but she’d never dealt with the devil), he used his free hand to fish a chrome lighter from the pocket of his robe and finally light the damned cigarette between his teeth. He was almost the spitting image of Aunt Zelda, Sabrina thought disturbingly, leaning smoothly against his seat and puffing out gusts of smoke, satanic book pressed to his chest (granted, the Spellman matriarch would have a satanic bible, but close enough).
Lucifer caught the cigarette between two fingers before pulling it away with a practiced ease.
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to set your mind to something else, though, darling. At least for today.” He gave her a pointed glance. “Because the answer is no.”
(Now. Now, he’d gone full Zelda.)
The witch scrunched her brows with all the air of someone who wasn’t used to hearing the scandalous word. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”
“I mean,” he pressed on, “you can always go back to your hellish research another time, but you won’t be here for very long, will you? So why don’t you take a break from the pandemonium that is, well, Pandemonium...” he tossed the book clean over his shoulder for dramatic effect and Sabrina rolled her eyes. “And do what you came here for?”
(If she wasn’t so caught up in her promise to give him a chance – that, and the fact he could probably take whatever earthly thing she threw at him – he would be covered head to toe in spiders and she’d be halfway back to Greendale by now).
“I came here – well, in this kitchen anyway – to eat some breakfast and read in peace.” She ground out, irritated, pushing away from the table and stalking over to wherever it was the tome landed. His floors were impeccably clean (Maze mentioned yesterday that it was less magic and more six sexy cleaning ladies named Stella) but she dusted off the leather-bound cover just the same when she bent to pick it up. “Not to have you terrorize me an hour before therapy. Dr. Linda’s going to hear about this, by the way.”
Lucifer did a double take at that (the doctor must not have thought much of him already, what with the child abandonment and less than forthcoming approach to secret spawn).
“Now, that’s just uncalled for.” He gasped, offended.
(She was pretty sure it was impossible to offend him, in any case, being the most irreverent entity she’s ever met, but even if she did, she would count it as more of an achievement than anything else).
She gave her best saccharine smile before dropping back into her chair. “Can’t say you don’t deserve it.”
“Come now, don’t tell me you’re enjoying this. Shackled up at home reading books like some bizarre cat lady.” Salem hissed at him indignantly from under the table and Lucifer actually peered down and hissed back. He promptly looked back up with a smug expression when the demon stalked behind Sabrina’s feet in surrender.
“This is Los Angeles, darling, our city.” He grinned wickedly, hands spread out in invitation. “Might as well have a little bit of fun.”
The girl scoffed. “Thanks, but no thanks. I think you and I have very different definitions of fun.”
Lucifer thought back to her choice of drink (his favorite name-brand whiskey), choice of restaurant (Jean Claude’s only ever got its start because its owner asked for a favor), and perhaps most glaringly, choice of sinner punishment (back when he sat the throne, demons were notoriously pleased with his hellfire-inclined torture preferences).
“Do we, really?”
She leveled him with the straightest face she could muster, leaving absolutely no room for argument. “Yes. Yes, we do.”
He sighed aloud and took another drag from his cigarette.
(Sabrina could tell he was getting frustrated, exhausted – it was a familiar look in the Spellman family household – and she almost felt sorry, but at that point, her amusement over the whole thing won over whatever ounce of remorse she might have had).
“Well, tell me what you want to do, then. What passes as fun for the likes of small-town teenage spawn?”
“I’m telling you, I’m perfectly fine where I am.”
Lucifer hated, absolutely hated, that he had to resort to extremes (his Father did everything to the extremes all the damn time, and look where that got him), but it seemed as though the whole casual conversation approach was the exact type to get trampled over and burnt to a crisp by her inherent stubbornness.
“Sabrina.” She had already cracked open her book and would have gone on ignoring him again for a few good minutes, but there was something about his tone of voice that made her look up and meet his gaze. His eyes, a close mirror to her own, were dark and probing, and she couldn’t find it in her to look away. “Tell me. What is it you desire?”
“I…” The witch frowned deeply, trying to fight against her own mind that seemed to pick itself apart and push past whatever defenses she’s built over sixteen years. “I don’t-”
“Come on, darling, you and I both know you didn’t come here to dig through libraries and find a satanic Hail Mary to hell. So tell me. What do you really want out of L.A.?”
Sabrina recognized what he was doing (had all but mastered a slightly different version of it herself), and she should have known that her father was the source of her own uncanny ability. All along, she’d wondered why her aunties or Ambrose or any other kid at the Academy couldn’t do this fairly simple form of witchcraft, one that she picked up and used to her advantage from a young age. Now, it seemed like some sort of karmic justice, in a way, that for once in her life, she’d be on the receiving end of the same magic she’d cast on so many others before.
“I want…” She tried holding out a bit longer, however futile it seemed, but all at once, it was though a dam had broken and the words rushed out of her throat like they couldn’t wait to escape. “I want to see the ocean.”
“Excellent!” Lucifer clapped his hands together and Sabrina broke free from the trance, shaking her head in disbelief. “We’ll have a beach day, then.”
The girl pushed away from her chair, feeling slightly betrayed, if not outright surprised, that he would subject her to such invasive magic then carry on the next moment as if nothing happened.
(A logical voice at the back of her head argued that it was hypocritical of her to think so when she did the same thing all the time, but she just chose to ignore it. Listening was never her strong suit, anyway).
“How did you…?” (Okay, she knew exactly how. That wasn’t the right question). “What the heaven did you just do to me?”
Because whatever it was, Sabrina was convinced he must have done it wrong. She knew herself, she knew her desires, and the ocean, of all things, had no place in her list of priorities right now. (If she weren’t so furious, she’d ask him to do the whole thing all over again, just to prove he made a mistake.)
By then, Lucifer was already typing away furiously on his phone, slightly distracted as his eyes squinted at the screen (it was a rather cutthroat matter, trying to find an uncrowded beach in the heat of midsummer California).
“Oh, just a little bit of celestial – rather, divine intervention, if you will.” He chuckled to himself before pocketing the device and shifting his focus back to her. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”
“You know, you can’t just go around-”
“Hold that thought.” Sabrina didn’t take too well to being shushed like a child, but still pressed her lips to a thin line when Lucifer held up a finger and glanced at the ticking clock on the wall. “Goodness, it’s already half past eight. You’ll be late for your therapy session.”
She held back an irritated growl. “I don’t care if-”
Her voice was drowned out by the sound of metal scraping against marble as Lucifer got up from his seat to hastily stub his cigarette into a nearby ashtray.
“Trust me, darling, Dr. Linda may seem rather mild in temperament, but you wouldn’t want to keep that woman waiting. I made the mistake once, and it’s cost me an inbox full of disappointed voicemails and a rescheduled appointment timed right to a bachelorette party that she bloody well knew I was looking forward to.”
He pulled the robe even tighter around himself before rushing to the bar to pour a shot of vodka (he never did get that coffee, but at least he could say he didn’t skip breakfast). “I swear, if she weren’t so brilliant, she’d do just as well a job tormenting poor souls in hell.”
Sabrina didn’t want to let him off that easy (this was the second time he’d used unwarranted magic on her in a span of two days, and both times, he’d left her feeling conflicted and agitated and just plain confused). Still, the young witch actually liked Dr. Linda, and Zelda always taught her that the greatest sign of disrespect was the waste of someone’s time. Now, she might have been raised in a cannibalistic mortuary, but it wasn’t a damn barn.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Fine. But this isn’t over.”
Lucifer was already halfway across the living room, but his steps slowed to a steady halt when she spoke. Slowly, he turned around, looking almost plaintive, with a grin that could only be considered as fond sitting on his alcohol-tinged mouth. Sabrina wondered if it was another ploy to play with her emotions.
“I figured as much.”
If things were different and Sabrina wasn’t so caught between not-quite-hating and not-quite-liking him, that would have been the time any other father playfully mussed his daughter’s hair and she responded with an eyeroll of mock annoyance. As things were, he was not any other father, Sabrina was glowering halfway across the room, and the way her eyes rolled almost to the back of her skull was too sharp to be anything but exasperated. He shook his head lightly before turning on his heel and retreating to his bedroom to get changed.
Once she was the only person left standing in the kitchen, Sabrina turned to Salem with a small scoff. “Can you believe that guy?”
The demon, for one, was watching their whole exchange with a growing amusement all the while. His mistress could deny it all she wanted, but it was clear as day that whatever delicately-strung balance of evasive conversations and hell-induced arguments that the devil and his daughter once held had now shifted. Sure, Sabrina was incensed and untrusting as always, but this time, she laughed and smiled and actually held back from setting things on fire (literally, metaphorically, and in every other sense of the word). For the first time in a long while since he’d been ripped out of Theo’s warm, overfeeding arms in Greendale and thrust into the unexpected, yet long-overdue, chapter in the Morningstar family saga, Salem was feeling hopeful.
He purred in agreement before Sabrina scooped him up into her arms and stalked back into her own bedroom.
(Now, she had to go pack a beach bag and enchant some sunscreen and – goddammit, why couldn’t she desire a nice, airconditioned movie theater, instead?)
Dr. Linda almost grew dizzy watching the supposed antichrist pace back and forth across the room, every bit as antsy and restless as her father as she recounted the very frustrating events that occurred over breakfast.
(And to think the doctor only asked, “How was your morning?”)
“-and then he did this whole desire hypnotism magic thing, which was very rude by the way, and he just…I don’t know, he caught me off guard.” Sabrina dropped into the sofa with a resounding groan. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have said something stupid like seeing the freaking ocean!”
“So you’re upset.” The therapist said. “Is it because he used his powers on you?”
“Yes.” The teenager answered a little too quickly. Linda cocked a brow at her, and the girl sighed, putting her hands up in surrender. “Okay, maybe not.”
“Why is that?”
Sabrina sat up straight, suddenly having to think the question through. “I guess…it’s not so much the magic that I’m mad about. I mean, I grew up with witches, you know? It’s not exactly out of the ordinary for us to use our magic on each other every day.”
(It would be weirder, really, growing up without Hilda lacing their honey cakes with truth potions whenever Sabrina and Ambrose were caught in a lie, or Zelda sealing the doorways when they fought so the girl would learn not to walk away from an argument).
She wet her lips, brows furrowed as she tried to piece it together herself. “So maybe it wasn’t the question that got me, maybe…maybe it was my answer.”
Dr. Linda leaned forward (she didn’t know if it was because Sabrina was still technically mortal, or if she was just taking to therapy that well, but at the rate they were going, she might actually reach a breakthrough faster than any other celestial that’s ever sat on her infamous couch).
“Yes. Yes, this is good. What bothered you about your answer?”
“Well, it was a dumb answer! And it came out of nowhere!” She gestured wildly with her hands, eyes wide. After a few good seconds, she threw herself against the backrest, throwing an arm over her face. “God…or Grandad or whatever, my greatest, deepest desire is to go to the beach? When I’ve got a boyfriend trapped in hell and a coven in shambles?”
The doctor sighed and readjusted her glasses. “Sabrina, why did you want to come to L.A. in the first place?”
The witch lifted her head slightly to look at Linda with curious eyes.
(She didn’t know what the doctor was doing, circling back to this all over again. Didn’t they move past the whole vacation plan thing on their first session?)
“Well, like I told you yesterday, I just wanted an out. At least for a little while.” She shrugged. “I needed a change of pace, a change of scenery. L.A. seemed good a place as any.”
(Linda tried not to think about how her reason to visit the city of angels was from the exact same cookie cutter mold that Lucifer used to justify his own escape from hell).
“And what do you think that has to do with your desire?”
Sabrina scoffed back. “Trust me, doctor, I wouldn’t be here if I knew.”
(Very Lucifer, indeed.)
“I think,” the therapist began, “the ocean was a perfectly reasonable answer.” The teenager frowned at that, but thankfully didn’t interrupt, unlike a certain someone Linda knew. “You wanted something different, something to take your mind off things. You mentioned yesterday that Los Angeles was the polar opposite of Greendale, especially with its sheer number of beaches. Is it possible that it’s not really about the ocean, but what the ocean represents?”
Sabrina blinked. “Possibly, sure, but…” She scrunched her brows. “Would I really put it above my family? Above Nick?”
“For the longest time, you’ve put the people you love first. And that’s a great thing. But what if, after everything that’s happened, at the back of your mind, this is your way of putting a pause on the things that hurt and telling yourself you deserve a break?”
The witch’s face had grown conflicted, and for the first time since the teenager came marching in that morning, the room was met with complete silence. The doctor was convinced that Sabrina was on the verge of a very important realization, and all it took was one last push, one last lingering second for the silence to work its magic and-
A loud buzzing erupted from the teenager’s pocket and she quickly shook her head, whatever train of thought she was having abandoned as she patted at the sides of her skirt. Linda gave her very best effort not to pop a vein when Sabrina pulled out a phone and began typing at the screen.
“Oh.” The doctor said shortly, crossing her arms. “I thought you said you didn’t own one of those?”
(She was very impressed at that, too. It was rare to see teenagers walking around without a mobile device in coastal California).
Sabrina sighed, still not looking up from whatever text message she was reading. “Well, I told Lucifer I didn’t need one. I mean, I did perfectly fine back home, just using the telephone to call my friends and mirror communication to reach my aunties, and that was just when I really needed to. Usually, everything was close enough to walk, and all conversation’s better done face to face anyway.” She rolled her eyes. “But apparently, things are different around here. He wouldn’t let me leave the house without one.”
“Well, I’m sure your dad has a point-”
“Hey, do you know how to read these weird emoji things he keeps sending?”
All of a sudden, Linda found herself staring down at a phone screen filled with a string of unintelligible symbols. She pulled away slightly so her eyes could focus better on the text – or lack of it, thereof.
“Devil sign, siren, stoplight, squad car…I’m sorry, sweetheart, but if I understood how your father communicated, he would have been out of therapy a long time ago.”
Sabrina frowned at the device. “I’m usually good at puzzles. Now that I think about it, he did say he had some business to attend to at the LAPD. Do you think I should meet him there?”
The doctor shook her head fervently (as far as she knew, Lucifer was strongly against having anyone else, especially from the police, meet his daughter).
“No. No, no, absolutely not. We had an agreement that he would pick you up right here after your session.”
“It won’t be much trouble, really. I’ve been there before. It should be familiar enough to teleport to.”
(Teleport? Now, that was new).
“Sabrina, that’s not what I’m saying-”
Before Linda could even finish her thought, the witch had already mumbled a quick “Lenuae Magicae” under her breath, and disappeared into thin air right in front of her. The doctor would’ve been in a state of shock, if it weren’t for the fact that she already expected the Morningstars to somehow draw the completely wrong conclusion from every single conversation they had.
She rubbed a hand against her forehead before reaching for her coffee cup.
“That family will be the death of me.”
Sabrina managed to arrive right at the precinct’s doors without anyone noticing. All the officers in uniform were either hunched over their desks, chatting by the water machine, or hurriedly walking across the room with stacks of paperwork in their hands. Still, in a sea of navy blue and crisp white work shirts, there was no sign of the perfectly-tailored designer suits her father seemed to have a preference for.
As she kept walking further into the office, she caught sight of a vaguely familiar leather jacket and quickly raised a hand to wave at its owner.
“Detective Espinoza!”
Dan was still busy putting together a file for the Massachusetts case Chloe was working on, and was actually on his way to his desk to make a few calls when he heard someone calling out to him. He whipped his head around and saw the girl from the other day’s park altercation case standing in the middle of the station.
(She looked fairly different now, thank goodness. Well-rested and less shaken up, though he had a sinking feeling that she might have been here on account of another arrest).
He dropped his folder on the table and squinted at her just to make sure he had it right.
“Sabrina?”