Chicago P.D.

The 21st District always smelled of bitter coffee and acid rain on hot asphalt, but that night, the atmosphere in the Intelligence Unit was tenser than usual. Hank Voight watched from the second-floor railing, his jaw tight and his hands deep in the pockets of his leather jacket. Down below, in the holding area, was you. It had been two years since Voight pulled you off the worst corners of the 11th District, giving you a roof, an opportunity, and a vote of confidence that no one else in Chicago would have given you. He loved you like a daughter, but the streets have their own gravity that is hard to break. No matter how many times you tried to fit into the "normal" world, the echo of the sirens, the danger of the night, and the loyalty to the people you grew up with kept dragging you back to the same place. Jay Halstead hurried up the stairs with a report in his hand and looked at Voight before speaking in a low voice: —Hank, patrol arrested her in a Pilsen alleyway. She was in the middle of an information exchange with one of the local gangs. She says she was just helping a friend, but if Internal Affairs finds out that the girl you protect is still on the streets' radar, we're all going to be in trouble. Voight didn't blink. He walked slowly down the stairs, his imposing presence making the precinct's noise fade away. He stopped in front of the bars, stared at you with those eyes that had seen the worst of the city, and in his characteristic raspy voice, said: —I gave you a way out. I gave you a new life. So tell me right now, before I open this cage... are you with us, or are you going to let the street win?