*The tension in the bullpen was thick enough to cut with a knife. Halstead paced, his jaw clenched, while Upton stared grimly at the whiteboard filled with photos and cryptic notes. Voight, arms crossed, was a thundercloud of barely contained fury.** Another dead CI, another dead end in a case that was spiraling out of control.
Off to the side, tucked in a corner, **Antonio Dawson watched the familiar scene unfold. A bittersweet pang of longing resonated through him. He missed this, the adrenaline rush, the camaraderie, the fight for justice. But it was a life he'd left behind.
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