For once Steve had heeded Mike's advice to call it an early night.
The slow progress of their investigation and a skull-splitting headache that had followed him for most of the day, a not-so-subtle reminder that he was pushing it too much, were reason enough to finally put the typewriter to rest and hang up the phone.
By the time he left around 7pm, the office was mostly empty except for Haley and Hassejian who were conducting an intense suspect interview, along with a yawning Sekulovich who was eagerly waiting for his shift to come to an end, and yet never stopped to keep a subtle eye on the young Inspector.
On the way home, a violent crash on Market blocking both lanes had sent him on a lengthy detour along Kearney northbound, before finally picking up Broadway again and rolling down Union Street.
By the time he pulled into an open parking spot by his apartment, almost forty-five minutes had passed, Steve realized woefully, quickly deliberating whether he should turn around and grab some to-go dinner for the evening or scavenge for food in the fridge.
Eventually, he settled on going straight home, his throbbing skull undoubtedly thankful for the decision, and reached over to grab his coat, checking the rearview mirror for any traffic before opening the door of the Porsche.
The unusually mild temperatures and a soft breeze greeted him, as the sun slowly began to set over the horizon.
Drawing in a deep breath, Steve draped his dress coat over his arm and locked the door with his free hand, when he caught something out of the corner of his eye.
Up the street, a mother and her toddler were making their way down the sidewalk, the daughter's cheerful singsong disrupting the usual noises in the area. Tied to her right hand and bobbing in the breeze was a blue balloon.
It was a sight that made him freeze in his spot, leaning against the front bumper of the Porsche as he waited for them to walk past, the mother smiling at him shyly as they continued their stroll, Steve's eyes never leaving the balloon.
It was a coincidence, he kept telling himself, it had to be.
There was no way that Osorro would know where he lived, and even if he did, when he'd be home.
Nope, the long day in the office and the headache were playing tricks on his mind, Steve assured himself once again, clenching his jaws as he forced his eyes off the balloon and toward his wooden stairwell.
Wood. Flammable. Limited escape routes once he was in his apartment.
A place that could easily turn into a deathtrap if a fire was set in the kitchen or living room.
"Good evening, Inspector!"
Molly Andrews' warm voice made him flinch violently, having been too deep in thought to hear the mid-eighties neighbor approach from behind.
Trying to disguise his discomfort by fidgeting with the coat over his forearm, Steve smiled as he watched her walk by.
"Good evening to you too, Misses Andrews."
Relying heavily on her cane, the older lady turned around, her warm blue eyes scanning him for a second, as a smile spread on her features.
"You look like you're afraid to go home, young man."
"No, it's just…it's been a long day.", Steve countered, struggling with the woman's intuitive senses picking up on his hesitation from miles away.
"Well, then you better get up there and eat some dinner and get some rest. You can't fight crime if you're tired, you know?"
Sharing one last smile with the older lady as she walked uphill and disappeared in the neighboring building, Steve swallowed hard and began to conquer his stairwell, one slow step at a time.
Nobody would ever see the cold sweat dripping off his forehead as he turned the knob to unlock his front door, terrified of what might await him.
