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I want to argue, want to insist on making some kind of gesture to mark this momentous change. But I know her well enough to respect her wishes.

“Fine,” I concede. “But I’m at least buying you lunch. One last meal. How about … Mario’s? We haven’t gone there in a while.”

She pretends to consider it, though her eyes light up at the mention of our favorite deli. “Well, when you put it that way.”

The walk to Mario’s is familiar—three blocks east, past the courthouse and that weird sculpture that looks like a giant paper clip. We’ve made this trip hundreds of times over the years, usually discussing cases or griping about paperwork. Today we talk about lighter things—Skylar’s latest art project, Leo’supcoming school play, the house Rissa found in Chillicothe with the big backyard perfect for a swing set.

Mario himself is behind the counter when we arrive, his round face breaking into a wide smile at the sight of us. “My favorite detectives! The usual?”

“You know it,” Rissa says, then adds, “Make it extra pickles today. It’s a special occasion.”

Mario’s expression sobers slightly. “Ah yes, I heard you were leaving us. Chillicothe’s gain is our loss, Detective Crane.”

“Thanks, Mario.” She manages a small smile. “I’ll miss your sandwiches.”

“Bah, you’ll just have to visit more often.” He waves off her attempt to pay. “On the house today. My farewell gift.”

We take our usual table by the window, unwrapping our sandwiches in comfortable silence. The pastrami is perfect as always, the bread still warm from the oven. I try to memorize everything about this moment—the way the afternoon sun slants through the window, the familiar buzz of the ceiling fan, the sound of Rissa laughing at my failed attempt to catch a falling pickle.

“You’re doing it again,” she says.

“Doing what?”

“That thing where you try to burn everything into your memory because you’re afraid of forgetting.” She sets down her sandwich, fixing me with a knowing look. “I meant what I said earlier—I’m not dying. We’ll still see each other.”

“I know.” I pick at my chips. “It’s just … what if something happens? What if I need backup or there’s a tough case and—”

“Then you’ll handle it,” she interrupts firmly. “Just like you always do. You’re a damn good detective, Eve. That won’t change just because I’m not here.”

“But—”

“No buts.” She reaches across the table, squeezing my hand. “You’ve got this. And if you ever need me, I’m only a phone call away. Always.”

I squeeze back, fighting the lump in my throat. “Promise?”

“Promise.” She releases my hand, sitting back with a smirk. “Besides, someone has to keep me updated on all the precinct gossip. And your soap opera of a love life.”

“Hey!” I throw a chip at her. “My love life is not a soap opera.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You married a reformed mafia prince-turned-vigilante who now runs a nightclub while secretly fighting crime. Pretty sure that qualifies as soap opera material.”

I can’t help but laugh because, well, she’s not wrong. “When you put it that way.”

“Exactly.” Her expression softens. “But for what it’s worth? I’m happy for you. You and Zeke. It works, somehow. In a crazy, probably-shouldn’t-but-does kind of way.”

“Thanks.” I mean it more than I can express. Her acceptance of my relationship with Zeke, despite all the complications and danger it brings, means everything. “That means a lot.”

“Yeah, well.” She shrugs, but she’s fighting emotion too. “Someone has to support your questionable life choices.”

The rest of lunch passes too quickly. Soon we’re walking back to the precinct, shoulders bumping occasionally as we dodge other pedestrians. The afternoon sun is warm on my face, a perfect early spring day that feels too bright for such a bittersweet occasion.

We stop just outside the precinct, and I turn to face her.

“Thank you,” I whisper. “For everything.”

“Right back at you, partner.” Her voice wavers slightly. “Take care of yourself, okay? And keep an eye on that vigilante husband of yours.”

I laugh through tears. “I will if you promise to send me pictures of Skylar’s new room once it’s done.”