The condo is dim and quiet. No lights are on except the warm glow of the light over the kitchen sink. Sharon steps inside with her overnight bag slung over one shoulder, keys jingling softly in her hand.

She pauses in the doorway, expecting silence. But there's a faint sound — the clink of a glass. Her eyes flick toward the kitchen.

Andy's sitting at the dining table, still in his dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, tie loose. A half-finished glass of cranberry and soda sits beside him. He looks up as she enters.

Neither of them says anything at first. "I didn't think you'd be here," Sharon whispers.

"I could say the same."

She exhales, drops her keys in the bowl on the entry hall table, and walks to the bedroom without looking at him. He follows her with his eyes but doesn't move. Moments later, she reappears with a small suitcase and a second bag, zipped halfway shut. She places it on the end of the dining table and begins packing neatly — phone charger, makeup bag, a folder full of notes.

His eyes follow her methodical movements, "You're not going to stay here?"

She doesn't look at him, "No. I'm going to stay with Stefanie for a while."

Andy straightens a little. Surprise flickers in his eyes, "Sharon...You're planting yourself inside the ring."

She zips the bag with a final tug and finally meets his eyes, "We both have roles to play."

"You don't have to be in the middle of it!' his voice rises slightly.

"Neither do you. But here we are." A long silence stretches between them. There's a hundred things neither of them says.

He looks down, "You sure you're okay with me staying here?"

"Of course, this is your home now." She walks to the closet, grabs her coat, then turns back. "Besides… I don't think I could sleep here with you gone. Not without wanting to call the whole thing off and bring you home."

His expression softens. He steps forward slightly, not closing the distance but just enough. "You won't have to do this alone. Not really. You're still in my ear... Always."

"Same," her gentle response is so soft, he has to strain to hear her.

She hesitates, then reaches out and smooths his collar—the motion instinctive and tender. She has done it a million times before, but never with as much weight as now. He glances down suddenly realizing her engagement ring is gone. "You took your ring off?" he can't hide the sadness in his voice.

The look of shear sadness in her eyes almost breaks him. She uses her other hand to push her collar of her light pink silk shirt to the side, where his eyes migrate to the stately emerald cut diamond ring on a gold chain around her slender neck. "It's always with me." She slides her hand down his chest, leaving it to rest just above his heart, "Be careful in there, Andy. I know what kind of man you used to be. Don't let that place bring him back."

He grins faintly, "You keep saying that like you didn't secretly like that guy just a little."

"I liked watching him squirm. That's not the same."

He chuckles softly. Sharon picks up her bags yet lingers one moment longer. "Lock the door behind me."

"Always."

She steps out into the night. Andy watches the door close behind her, the soft echo of her footsteps fading down the hallway.

He stands alone in the silence. Then — very slowly — he starts turning out the lights.

The mansion is quiet — too quiet. It's beautifully decorated, all sleek lines and soft lighting, but it feels more like a showplace than a home. Sharon steps inside, bag over her shoulder, and is greeted by the faint scent of lavender and freshly brewed tea.

Stefanie steps from the kitchen, "You didn't have to come tonight. I would've understood."

Sharon smiles softly as she places her bags just inside the door. "I needed to, for both our sakes."

Stefanie gives a small, relieved smile and gestures for Sharon to come in. She leads her to the kitchen, where a pot of tea sits on the island, steam curling upward. "I've got the guest room all made up. It's on the east side — you'll have more privacy there."

"The east side." Sharon replays in her mind, fighting not to roll her eyes, "Thank you. I don't plan to be in your way, but I do want to stay close — just in case."

Stefanie nods, but her nerves are obvious. She's trying to hold it together. "I still can't believe she's gone. Lydia. I mean, I know it was natural… but everything feels so off lately. The looks I've gotten. The calls that hang up when I answer. And then you and Andy — it's just…" She trails off, suddenly embarrassed. "Sorry. I don't mean to pry."

Sharon's Commander's mask slips back into place, "It's okay. Things are complicated right now. But I promise, everything we're doing — it's to protect you. And others like you."

Stefanie looks down at her tea sheepishly, "Then...There's something I didn't tell you earlier."

Sharon looks up, her eyes sharpening. "Go on."

"The night before Lydia passed, she called me. Left a voicemail. I didn't listen to it right away — I thought it was just her reminding me about trash day or something. But when I played it this morning…" Stefanie walks over to a drawer, pulls out her phone, and holds it out. "You need to hear it."

Sharon presses play, the voice of an older woman echoing through the kitchen, "Stefanie… I know I've always been a little dramatic, but I swear, there's something going on next door. That man you've been talking to — the one who came by last week — I saw him again. He was near my back gate. I think he knew I saw him. If something happens… I just didn't want to keep quiet."

The message ends.

Sharon and Stefanie look at each other — the atmosphere thickening with realization. "Do you still have access to her camera system?"

Stefanie shrugs lightly, "Yes, I'm sure. I haven't touched it yet. Her lawyer hasn't even been by to start going through things. But I have a key to her place."

Sharon nods, already forming a plan. "Then first thing tomorrow, we go in. And we see what Lydia saw."

The grand entryway is silent. Expensive artwork lines the walls, and heavy drapes block out most of the morning light. The air still smells faintly like Lydia's perfume — floral and dignified, lingering like memory.

Sharon steps inside with Stefanie just behind her. Stefanie pauses, visibly unsettled. "I've never been in here without her. Feels… wrong."

Sharon places her hand gently on Stefanie's back, "We'll be quick. Just enough to pull anything from the security system." She glances around, immediately noticing a discreet panel mounted near the hallway — the security hub. She approaches and starts tapping in commands. "Did Lydia ever mention a password, or code?"

"Hmm, let me think, Stefanie ponders. "She gave me one once… for emergencies. Try "Archie." That was her dog's name. The poodle she carried around in a Birkin bag."

Sharon smiles slightly at the vision that crosses her mind. She enters A-R-C-H-I-E once and the system chirps and unlocks. Footage options bloom across the screen — several external cameras, some from days ago, others labeled "driveway," "back gate," and "east perimeter." Sharon pulls a small external drive from her pocket and connects it to the system. "We'll pull everything from the past week. Especially the night before she passed."

Stefanie glances around the room, "Should we watch it now?" Sharon hesitates — then nods once. "There's a computer in her study," follow me, Stefanie crooks her head.

The room is elegant but lived-in — books stacked high, delicate china behind glass. Sharon and Stefanie sit at Lydia's desk, Sharon working quickly on the desktop computer, the external drive humming quietly as it transfers files. The footage fills the entire screen, a grainy night vision begins to play.

CAMERA: BACK GATE – 9:42 PM

For several seconds, it's quiet. Trees rustle in the breeze. Then —

A man in a suit appears just at the edge of frame. He's careful. Glancing behind him. Moving slowly. He approaches the back gate to Stefanie's property, then steps closer to Lydia's fence line.

Stefanie leans in, wishing for her glasses. "Pause it. Zoom in."

Sharon does. The man's face is mostly in shadow — until he tilts his head up slightly.

A glimpse.

Sharon murmurs almost to herself, "That's Russo."

"Are you sure?"

Sharon's eyes darken with furry, "It's him! I know the way he moves. The way he checks corners. That's not a neighbor dropping in. That's surveillance."They watch in silence as Russo steps back into the shadows — disappearing as quickly as he came.

Sharon exhales, then reaches for her phone. "We have him," she gently pats Stefanie's knee.

"So what now?" Stefanie's voice shakes with fear.

Sharon looks at her, and for a moment, the professional mask drops. "Now we see just how deep this goes." As the footage finishes transferring. Sharon ejects the drive and slips it into her leather case with practiced care.

Stefanie watches her closely, "You're not sending that to the whole team?"

With a soft shake of her head, "No. Not yet. We can't risk it getting into the wrong hands." Sharon pulls out her phone, scrolls to a contact, and taps a secure messaging app. Mike Tao's name flashes across the screen. Sharon attaches the file and begins typing.

"For your eyes only. Cross-reference timestamp and movement patterns. Tell me if anything about his approach looks familiar — or trained." She hesitates for a second, then adds, "Don't discuss this with anyone. Including Provenza. I'll explain in person." She hits Send. The screen confirms encryption. Then she locks the phone and turns to Stefanie, "Mike will know what to look for. And how to keep it quiet."

Stefanie's eyes are wide, "Do you think he's in danger? Andy?"

Sharon's shoulders stiffen, "He's in the best position to get the answers we need. But yes — it's dangerous." She stands, ready to go. "We're going to keep everything the way it looks on the outside. As far as the world knows… I'm just a friend helping you through a rough time. And Andy? He's off licking his wounds after walking out on me."

Stefanie cradles her face in her hands, the guilt overwhelming, "I still feel like this is all my fault."

Sharon softens slightly. She walks over and gently squeezes Stefanie's hand. "Stefanie, you were targeted. Manipulated. That's not your fault. But what you're doing now — sharing this, helping us — that matters." Not adding that this started long before Stefanie entered the picture. Sharon picks up her bag, her composure once again becoming that of the Commander, "Stay inside today. Keep your eyes open. If anyone comes near that back gate again, I want to know."

Stefanie nods.

Sharon gives one last glance to Lydia's now-silent study — and walks out.

The minute Andy Flynn opens the door and steps inside RHD he remembers how the tone here is very different from Major Crimes. Louder. Rougher. Jokes flying like knives. Detectives huddle around desks stacked with cold cases, coffee cups, and half-eaten donuts. He's dressed sharp but casual. His sobriety bracelet in place like normal. No badge on his belt. Just a neutral expression and a folder tucked under one arm.

Heads turn. Conversations pause.

A new Detective Andy has met once, leans over muttering to Brian Smith, "Thought he was playing house in Major Crimes."

"Not anymore," Smith snorts with a smirk.

The brief second of silence is broken by Russo's grating voice, "Well, well. Look what the cat dragged back."

Andy smirks — the kind of smirk he used to wear before he knew better. "Some things don't change. Still smells like old coffee and ego in here."

A few of the guys laugh. A few don't. Andy walks over to an empty desk — his old one, karma is a bitch. It's dustier now. He sits like he owns the place.

Russo continues, "Heard things didn't work out with Captain Raydor."

Andy doesn't bother correcting him that it is Commander now, "Nope."

Russo stands from his desk, stretching, "Shame. You two made such a great power couple. The Wicked Witch and her reformed flying monkey."

The room chuckles. Andy just smiles. Tight. Controlled.

Andy turns in his chair, "You know what they say. Some people change. Some people just get better at hiding their dirt."

Tension flickers in Russo's eyes — just for a second — before he masks it with a smile. "You here to work or stir up old ghosts?"

Andy smiles back, "I'm here to do what I do best. Dig through garbage until something valuable floats to the top." He opens the folder, eyes scanning a case file — but really, he's watching everyone else. Especially Russo.

The morning slides slowly by, Andy keeps his head down, flipping through paperwork, playing his part. Around him, chatter rises and falls — old war stories, case gossip, muttered gripes about policy changes.

A younger detective tosses a file on Andy's desk. "Chief's orders. You're on the Robinson case. Cold case. Woman was conned and cleaned out — no leads, no suspects."

Andy glances at the file, "Sounds familiar."

The detective nods his head, "Right? Heard that kind of scam's picking up again. Some guy's working women in wealthier zip codes. Got a whole profile on him."

Andy files that away with quiet interest. Coincidence? He doubts it. He leans back in his chair, eyes drifting toward Russo, who's laughing with another detective near the vending machines. Shaking his head, Andy's voice rings in his ears, "Go ahead, Drake. Laugh it up. I've got all the time in the world."

It's quiet except for the faint hum of computer equipment and the rapid clicking of keys. Mike Tao sits at his workstation, several monitors glowing in front of him. One shows footage from Lydia Kemper's security system; another displays mapping software and timestamps.

On the desk beside him is Sharon's encrypted thumb drive and his phone, face-down. He rewinds a few seconds of footage — Russo's figure creeping along the perimeter of the fence line. He pauses. Zooms. Enhances. Mike leans in, expression tight with focus. "That's definitely him..." Mike mutters. "Just what are you doing out there?"

He opens a second window — side-by-side facial recognition comparison. Russo's badge photo pops up beside the grainy night footage. 85% match flashes in the corner.

He opens a third window — pulls up time logs. "Let's see if you logged yourself somewhere else that night…" Mike continues to talk to himself.

He types fast. A few seconds later, he frowns. "No activity logged. No vehicle use. No patrol notation. Nothing."

Shaking his head, Mike pulls up departmental GPS tracking — Russo's city-assigned vehicle pinged near downtown earlier that day, but no activity near Brentwood.

Mike exhales, glancing at his phone. He turns it over and opens a secure messaging app — the one Sharon used.

"Facial recognition confirms Russo near Stefanie's back gate night of Lydia's death. 85% match. Vehicle GPS shows no record of him in the area — possible data suppression. Sending full report in next hour. You were right to flag this."

He pauses — then adds:

"This goes deep. Be careful."

He hits send, leans back in his chair, and stares at the paused image of Russo's shadowy figure. "What the hell are you mixed up in, Drake?"

Sunlight filters softly through the large windows. Stefanie sits curled on one end of the cream-colored sofa, a blanket over her legs, untouched tea on the coffee table. Sharon stands nearby, phone in hand, reading Mike's encrypted message. Her mask doesn't drop — but her posture tightens.

"Anything?" Stefanie quietly asks.

"Mike confirmed it. Just like we thought, it was Russo."

Stefanie exhales shakily, curling the blanket tighter. "God. I knew something was off. I told myself it was just… nerves. After what I went through, I thought I was imagining things."

Sharon walks to the window, pulling the curtain back just an inch to peek outside. The street is quiet. Too quiet. "People like Russo, Bishop... count on that. They prey on your doubt. On the idea that no one would believe you — or that you'll second-guess your gut until it's too late."

Stefanie looks up at her, searching her face. "Did you ever feel that way? In your job?"

Sharon shrugs, coming to sit on the opposite end of the sofa. "Every time I walked into a room full of people who hated me just for showing up. Especially when I was with Internal Affairs."

"But you did it anyway."

Sharon met Stefanie's hazel eyes, "I had to. If I didn't, who else would?"

A few moments passed, while Stefanie let Sharon's words sink in, "Do you think… do you think I could've stopped this? If I'd come forward earlier?"

Sharon turns back to her — softer now, less commander, more friend. "You were a victim. The only people who should be asking themselves what they could've done differently are the ones who created this mess." She stands up, moving to sit closer to her friend. "You're helping now. That matters more than anything else."

Stefanie nods but her hands fidget with the blanket — she's trying not to cry. "I don't want to be scared anymore."

"Then don't be. Let's make them scared of you." A sudden buzz from Sharon's phone draws both of their attention. Another message from Mike:

"One more thing. Russo may have wiped GPS data. I'm digging into access logs now. If he tampered with the system, there's a trail. I'll find it."

Sharon locks her phone and looks toward Stefanie. "We're closing in. But from now on, we stay alert. That includes your staff, deliveries, anything out of the ordinary."

Stefanie looked at her, eyes wide, "You really think someone might come back?"

"I think someone already has," her Commander's mask slipping firmly back in place. "And next time, we'll be ready."