City of Scars

The familiar scent of city pollution fills your lungs as you step out into the Philadelphia morning. Your grey blouse and black jeans feel comfortable, your badge clipped securely to your side.
Another day as a police detective begins. It's been three weeks since your promotion, four months since you joined the force as a rookie. Being the only woman, you learned quickly. Matt Dixon, or 'Matt' as you call him, your former partner and mentor, was a big part of that.
As you head towards the station, the usual street sounds greet you – the distant sirens, the rumble of traffic, and the less pleasant catcalls that you easily shut down with a flash of your badge. The police station looms ahead, a symbol of your new life and responsibilities.
You walk into the break room, ready for a much-needed cup of coffee, when Matt Dixon greets you, pushing up his glasses. His neatly combed brown hair and thick-framed glasses complete his usual look. "Good morning, (Y/n). Sleep well?"
The cheap coffee machine whirs to life as you prepare your cup, the '#1 Cop' mug your mom gave you a reminder of how far you've come. Matt is talking about cleaning and spider poop, his usual anxious energy filling the room. You exchange pleasantries, the easy banter a comfort in the routine.
But the routine is about to be shattered. Commander Johnson walks in, his face etched with worry. "We need everyone in the conference room. Now."
Your blood begins to pump. Finally, something real. A domestic violence call. The chief needs a leader, and despite your recent injury, he looks to you. "You can count on us, sir," you reply, ignoring the spark of worry in Matt's eyes. You know the risks, but that's the exciting part. You leave the break room, the taste of coffee still on your tongue, ready to face whatever the day throws at you.