As far from Petrov as he could get without making it obvious. The outgoing lieutenant stepped up to the podium and cleared his throat. "Morning, everybody. Before we get into assignments, I want you all to meet somebody."
He gestured toward Mackie. "This is Captain Mackie Rogers. He's taking over as commanding officer effective today. Some of you will be working directly under him starting this week."
Mackie stepped up to the podium and looked out over the room, letting his eyes move slowly across every face. Most of the officers straightened in their seats, some out of respect, some out of simple habit at the sight of new brass. His eyes reached the front row. Petrov's coffee cup stopped halfway to his mouth.
His face went through three expressions in the space of two seconds. Confusion. Recognition. Then something close to horror.
He managed to set the cup down and force his features still. Mackie held his gaze on him for exactly one beat longer than necessary. "Officer Petrov," Mackie said, calm and even, giving nothing away to the rest of the room. "Good to see you again."
A ripple of confused glances passed through the officers nearby. None of them understood the weight behind those five plain words. None of them knew what had happened in a driveway three days earlier. But Petrov knew.
The men sitting closest to him could see something was wrong, even if they couldn't name it. "Yes, sir," Petrov managed, his voice tight. "Stand up, officer," Mackie said. "You're supposed to stand when introduced to your new commanding officer, aren't you?"
It wasn't a trick. It wasn't cruel. It was standard protocol, plain and simple. But everyone in that room understood on some instinctive level that Mackie wasn't asking.
Petrov rose slowly from his chair, jaw tight, and offered a stiff salute that looked like it cost him something to give. Mackie returned it, brief and professional. Then he moved on to addressing the room. He laid out expectations for his first week, his voice steady and clear.
He gave the whole precinct no reason to think anything unusual had just happened. But in the back row, Bishop sat frozen, staring at the floor. His stomach twisted with guilt he hadn't fully named yet. He'd been there.
He'd seen the collar grab. Heard the words "teach him respect." Watched Petrov reach for the cuffs. He'd said nothing.
Done nothing. Just stood there like the rest of them until the badge came out and changed everything. Roll call ended a few minutes later. Officers filed out toward their assignments.
Some were already forgetting the strange moment between the new captain and Petrov. Petrov didn't forget. The second he was out of Mackie's sight, he pulled two officers aside near the lockers. His voice dropped low and fast, already spinning the story he needed people to believe.
By Wednesday, the story had legs. Mackie heard the first version of it secondhand, passed along by a sergeant who clearly didn't realize what he was repeating. Something about a new captain who'd gotten stopped by a patrol officer and used his badge to settle a score. Something about a man who couldn't take being questioned like anybody else.
A man who needed the whole department to know he outranked them now. By Thursday, the story had grown teeth. Mackie caught pieces of it in the break room. Conversations stopped a beat too late when he walked in.