Chapter 32: Grey's Question
Wednesday, November 21, 2018 - Mid-Wilshire Station, 8:47 AM
Sergeant Wade Grey's POV
Officer Ethan Mercer's personnel file sat on my desk. Not the official one—that was standard rookie metrics, satisfactory ratings, no disciplinary issues.
This was my private file. The one I kept on rookies who stood out.
Mercer stood out.
Fifteen weeks on the job. Twenty-three incidents documented where his "instincts" led to exceptional outcomes:
Week 2: Sensed danger during traffic stop, prevented officer ambushWeek 3: Recalled partial plate from three days prior, broke robbery caseWeek 5: "Knew" Officer West was in danger, arrived in time to prevent serious injury (first time)Week 7: Identified cold case connection through "good memory"Week 10: Predicted red-light collision seconds before it happenedWeek 11: Second West save, traffic stop escalationWeek 13: Perfect score on advanced active shooter scenarioWeek 14: Third West save, multi-location operation
And more. Pattern recognition that shouldn't exist. Memory that was photographically perfect. Combat skills learned in weeks that should take years. And that damn "danger sense" that Bradford had mentioned in his private conversations with me.
The kid was either the luckiest rookie in LAPD history, or something else entirely.
I needed to know which.
I picked up the phone. "Officer Mercer to my office. Now."
Ethan's POV - Grey's Office, 8:52 AM
The summons came during morning briefing. Everyone heard it.
Lopez shot me a questioning look. Tim's expression was carefully neutral. Lucy mouthed "good luck."
I walked to Grey's office, knocked once.
"Enter. Close the door."
Never good when the door closes.
Grey sat behind his desk, a folder open in front of him. He gestured to the chair across from him.
"Sit."
I sat. My danger sense pulsed. Not physical danger. Exposure danger. The threat of my secret being revealed.
Grey spread papers across his desk. Reports. Commendations. Incident summaries. All featuring my name.
"Fifteen weeks," he said. "Twenty-three incidents where your 'instincts' led to successful outcomes that shouldn't have been possible for a rookie. Want to explain?"
My mouth went dry. Play it calm. Deflect. Use the family genetics line.
"I pay attention, sir. I remember details. My family's always had good timing."
"Good timing." Grey leaned back, eyebrow raised. "Let me read you some highlights. Week five: you abandoned your assigned sector during a coordinated operation because you 'knew' Officer West was in danger. You were two blocks away. You were right. Week ten: you shouted a warning about a red-light collision three seconds before it happened. The driver of the pursuit vehicle confirmed you shouted before she even started accelerating. Week thirteen: you cleared an active shooter scenario in eight minutes with a perfect score. Instructors said you moved like you knew where every threat was before encountering it."
He stacked the papers neatly.
"Officer Mercer, I've been doing this thirty years. I've seen good instincts. Hell, I've seen great instincts. This isn't that. I'm not accusing you of anything illegal or wrong—your results are exemplary. Your fellow officers are alive because of you. But I'm asking you directly, as your watch commander: are you psychic? Enhanced perception? Something else?"
My danger sense intensified. This was it. The moment where I either told the truth or committed to the cover story permanently.
Can't tell him about transmigration. Can't explain the powers. But I need him to trust me.
"Sir, I'm just a cop trying to do good work."
Grey stared at me. Long silence. Evaluating.
"That's not an answer, Officer."
"It's the only answer I can give, sir."
More silence. The air conditioning hummed. Someone laughed in the hallway outside. Normal station sounds while my career hung in the balance.
Finally, Grey stood. Walked to the window overlooking the parking lot.
"When I was a rookie," he said, "my training officer had a thing. Called it his 'cop sense.' He'd know when something was wrong before anyone else. Saved my life twice. After he retired, I asked him how he did it. You know what he told me?"
"No, sir."
"'I pay attention.' That's it. Same thing you just said." Grey turned to face me. "I didn't believe him either. But here's what I learned over thirty years: some people are just better at this job than others. Better at reading situations. Better at remembering details. Better at sensing danger. Maybe it's genetics. Maybe it's luck. Maybe it's divine intervention. I don't know and I don't care."
He returned to his desk, closed the folder.
"Alright. Keep your secrets. But understand this: whatever edge you have makes you valuable. It also makes you a target if the wrong people notice. Be careful who you trust. Be careful how much you show. Because not everyone will react like me—with trust. Some will see you as a threat. Some will want to exploit you. Some will try to destroy what they don't understand."
"I understand, sir."
"And Mercer? If your 'instincts' ever tell you something that could prevent officer deaths, you tell me. Immediately. No matter how crazy it sounds. No matter if you can't explain how you know. Clear?"
Like Armstrong planning to kill Captain Andersen. Like Jackson's eventual fatal encounter. Like every danger I know is coming.
"Crystal, sir."
Grey's expression softened. Barely. "You're a good cop. You saved West three times. You've closed cases that would've stayed cold. You've earned trust from Bradford, Lopez, Chen—officers who don't trust easily. That counts for something. Don't waste it by being stupid or reckless."
"I won't, sir."
"Dismissed."
I stood, headed for the door.
"Officer Mercer?"
I paused, hand on the doorknob.
"Your third date with Dr. Shaw is tonight. Don't screw it up."
How does everyone know about my dating life?
"I'll try not to, sir."
"Good. Now get out of my office."
Hallway - 9:07 AM
Tim leaned against the wall outside Grey's office. Waiting.
"He asked about your instincts?" Tim said.
"Yeah."
"What'd you tell him?"
"Nothing useful."
Tim almost smiled. "Good. Some things are better left unexplained. Just keep using whatever you've got to keep people alive."
"That's what Grey said too."
"Because we're both right." He pushed off the wall. "Come on. We have patrol. And tonight you have a date. Try to look alive for both."
Angela Lopez's POV - Detective Division, 10:23 AM
I watched Mercer through the window. He was at his desk, filling out paperwork from yesterday's domestic call. The one that had rattled him visibly.
Grey had called him in this morning. Closed door meeting. About the instincts, obviously. Everyone knew Mercer had something unusual going on.
The question was what.
I'd been a cop twelve years before making detective. I knew when someone had an edge. Mercer's edge was beyond normal intuition. Way beyond.
But Grey had let him go. No punishment. No investigation. Just a conversation and dismissal.
That told me everything I needed to know.
Grey trusted him. And if Grey trusted him, despite the impossibility of his instincts, then so would I.
I had enough mysteries to solve without adding Mercer to the list. The Armstrong investigation was heating up. Financial records showing unexplained deposits. Meeting patterns with known criminals. And that envelope exchange Mercer had documented—I'd seen his encrypted file. He'd shared it with me two days ago after swearing me to secrecy.
Mercer had good instincts about people too. He'd been watching Armstrong for months before the first concrete evidence appeared.
Maybe that's what his edge was. Reading people. Sensing danger. Whatever it was, I was glad he was on our side.
Ethan's POV - End of Shift, 5:47 PM
I drove home mentally exhausted. Grey's questioning had taken more out of me than yesterday's traumatic call.
He knows something's unusual. He chose trust anyway. That's... that's huge.
My phone rang. Emma.
"Hey."
"Hey yourself. Still on for tonight?"
"Definitely. Where are we going?"
"It's a surprise. But fair warning: it involves food, wine, and a view. Dress accordingly."
"That's not much of a hint."
"That's the point. Seven PM. I'm picking you up. Be ready."
"I'll be ready."
"Good. And Ethan? How are you doing? After yesterday?"
"Better. Still processing. But better."
"We can talk about it tonight. Or not. Whatever you need."
"Thanks. For understanding."
"Always. See you at seven."
She hung up. I pulled into my garage, mansion looming above me.
Grey trusts me despite impossible instincts. Tim accepts me despite mysteries. Emma sees my trauma and stays anyway. Jackson owes me his life three times. Lopez shares my Armstrong investigation. The team signed a ridiculous prank treaty at my house.
This life is real. Not performance. Not survival. Real.
I went inside, showered, found something "date appropriate" that wasn't cop clothes.
Seven PM. Emma arrived right on time in her Honda Civic, wearing a blue dress that made her look like someone who hadn't just worked a twelve-hour trauma shift.
"You clean up nice," she said when I got in.
"You too. Where are we going?"
"Griffith Observatory. There's a dinner event. Fundraiser for the hospital. I got us tickets."
The observatory. Where the heist happened. Full circle.
"Perfect."
She drove through LA traffic, talking about her day, asking about mine (I summarized, carefully editing out the trauma). Normal date conversation. Normal life.
My danger sense stayed quiet. My recall captured every moment. Not as trauma this time. As memory worth keeping.
Horror and hope. Grey's trust and Miguel's empty eyes. Emma's kiss and Armstrong's threat.
This is the job. This is the life. Both beautiful and terrible.
And I choose it. Every day.
We drove into the hills as the sun set over Los Angeles, painting everything gold. Emma reached over, squeezed my hand once.
"You good?"
"Yeah. I'm good."
And for that moment, I was.
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