"Boys," Rodriguez said. “You all know Sloane Harper. The New York Times.”
"Sloane." Shane nodded, his celebratory mood shifting to something more professional. "Good to see you."
"Shane." Her voice was warm. "Congratulations. I heard on the way in."
I listened to the exchange, but my attention kept drifting to Garrett. He hadn't moved. Hadn't spoken. He was looking at Sloane like she was a ghost.
"Ms. Harper is here about another serial arson case," Rodriguez continued. "She needs a liaison from our station."
Rodriguez turned to Garrett. "Stone, you're assigned to assist Ms. Harper with access and background."
Silence.
Garrett's fingers tightened around his mug. Sloane's composure cracked—Loss? Fear? Regret? It was impossible to name before she buried it.
"I'll do it."
Everyone turned. Garrett's voice was flat, controlled.
Sloane stared at him. Whatever history existed between them, it was heavy enough to fill the room.
She cleared her throat and pulled her professional mask back into place. "I'll email you the case files."
"I have your email."
Another pause. Charged.
Rodriguez clapped his hands. "Good. That's settled. Harper, let me walk you out—Stone, I'll brief you in the morning."
Sloane turned to leave, paused at the door. Didn't look back. "I'll be in touch, Stone."
She was gone before anyone could respond.
Garrett sat motionless, staring at the door she'd disappeared through. The mask had slipped. Underneath, there was something raw. Something wounded.
Shane caught my eye.You seeing this?
I gave the smallest nod.
We didn't push. Garrett had never talked about his past, and we'd learned not to ask. But the way he'd looked at Sloane—like she was both salvation and destruction—told me enough.
There was a story there. A painful one.
And something told me we were all about to find out.
To be continued in Forever
