Day six:Sloane, what's going on?
Later.
Day seven:Nothing.
The common room at Engine 295. My phone screen. Dark.
"You're going to burn a hole through that thing."
Shane leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. The expression of someone who'd already figured out what was wrong.
"I'm fine."
"You've been checking your phone every thirty seconds for three days." He dropped into the chair across from me. "Trouble with Harper?"
I didn't answer. Couldn't.
"I don't know." The words scraped coming out. "She's gone quiet. One-word texts. Won't take my calls."
"Maybe she needs space to process something."
"Not like this." I shook my head. "This is different. She's pulling away."
Shane's expression shifted. He knew what that meant. He'd lived his own version of it.
"How long have you two known each other?" he asked. "And don't say 'since the arson case.'"
I rubbed my jaw. Stubble rasping against my palm.
"A long time."
"How long?"
"Long enough."
Shane waited. I gave him the minimum.
"We were together. Before. It ended badly. She left, I waited, she didn't come back." Like giving a report on someone else's life. "That was eight years ago."
He didn't flinch. Didn't push for details. Just absorbed it.
"And now she's doing it again."
"I don't know what she's doing. That's the problem."
"Yeah, you do." Quiet. Certain. "You just don't want to say it out loud because last time, it didn't end well."
Somewhere down the hall, a radio crackled. I stared at my hands. Calloused. Scarred.
Hands that had held her a thousand times and couldn't reach her now.
"Something happened," Shane said. "Maybe she found something. Whatever it is, she's carrying it alone."
He wasn't wrong. That was exactly what Sloane did. Carried things alone until the weight crushed her, then disappeared rather than let anyone see her buckle.
Shane leaned forward. Elbows on his knees.
"Last time, you gave her space. Respected the distance. Let her go."
