Loves Me Not

The persistent hum of the precinct's ancient air conditioner was the only constant sound in Detective Brett Porter's otherwise quiet morning. He leaned back in his worn chair, a lukewarm coffee mug in hand, the faint aroma of stale paper and yesterday's donuts clinging to the air.
His eyes scanned the reports, a monotonous task that usually filled the hours before the real chaos began. Today, however, the chief had him sifting through paperwork for a case from last month, a bureaucratic hurdle before it headed to court. It was mundane, yet Porter found a strange comfort in the routine.
His phone, usually a tyrannical alarm, had mercifully stayed silent, granting him an extra thirty minutes of precious sleep. Six-thirty, his body's internal clock insisted, was sleeping in. A luxury most wouldn't understand.
The clock on the wall crept towards nine. Soon, the morning briefing would begin, another cup of coffee, the same old spiel. He'd probably join Zoey on a B&E call, a familiar rhythm. But today, a different kind of call was waiting, one that would shatter the quiet routine and pull him into a world far more complex than a simple break-in.