The noon sun glared off the glass facade of the 12th Precinct, turning the lobby into a greenhouse of sweat and stale coffee.
Noah pushed through the revolving doors, balancing a cardboard tray of coffees and a grease-stained paper bag. He adjusted his glasses with his shoulder, doing his best impression of a man overwhelmed by gravity.
He wasn't wearing the beige cardigan. That was gone. He wore a loose, wrinkled grey pullover that hid his frame, and jeans that were slightly too long, bunching over his sneakers.
"Sarah?" he called out, scanning the chaos of the lobby.
Sarah was standing near the front desk, arguing with a desk sergeant. She looked exhausted. Her blazer was wrinkled, and she was rubbing the bridge of her nose.
She looked up and saw him. Her expression softened, just a
