Nolan rubbed his temples. He’d been a rookie once—late in life, full of questions. But never about television.

Nolan set down his pen. “You’re a detective. You solve homicides. And you’re worried about the episode count of a TV show?”

For the next twenty minutes, the only sounds were the opening credits of a show about a late-blooming cop and the occasional snort from Celina when something mirrored a real LAPD story Nolan had once told her.

Celina’s phone buzzed. She glanced down. “They’re saying seven. Someone just posted that season seven was confirmed.”