“Failed?How?”
“Sarah died doing her job. Hannibal too. Our home burned. Joshua could’ve died. Nothing I did mattered.”
His voice cracked, and for a moment, he wasn’t in the room—he was back on that lawn, choking on smoke, staring at the spot where she fell.
In his mind, he heard her laugh—quick, warm, always edged with steel.“You’re not bulletproof, Campbell,”she’d told him once.“You’re just too damn stubborn to break.”
He wondered what she’d say now if she saw the man he’d become.
He drew in a breath that shuddered through his chest. “I could’ve lost him, Norm. Just like Kathy.How the hell do I live with that?”
Norm let the silence settle. Heavy. Not unkind. Then he stepped forward and laid a hand on Colin’s shoulder.
“You didn’t fail. Yousurvived. So did Joshua. That means you still have a choice. Go on living in the blast zone—dragging everyone who loves you through the wreckage—or start clawing your way back tolife.”
Colin’s fists clenched. His breath stuttered. “Jesus Christ, Norm… one of my best friends was blown off the face of the earth ten steps from my front door!”
The hand that had rested on Colin’s shoulder slammed against the desktop–Norm’s voice cracking like a whip. “Don’t you dare lay this on Sarah! She was one of the finest police officers I’ve ever served with—and she’d be fuckingfuriousto see you using her death to justify this—thisactyou’re putting on! Thispretense!”
He broke off, breath hissing through his teeth, then leaned forward—his voice lower, quieter. “Think about the story you’re telling, Colin. Sarah’s part of that story now, and you’re letting guilt, grief, and rage write the ending.” He met Colin’s eyes. “That’s not justice. It’s surrender. And surrender sure ashelldoesn’t honor what Sarah stood fororwhat she died for.”
He hesitated, then leaned his weight against the desk. His voice dropped another octave—quieter, steadier. “Know this, too, Counselor.And know it well! There’s only one thing that could drive Joshua away for good—seeing you suffer and not being able to do a damnthingabout it.”
He straightened, jaw tight, eyes flashing, and walked out. No goodbye. No glance back. Just the door, closing behind him.
Colin stood alone in the quiet, his heart hammering in his chest, his breathing ragged—because for the first time in weeks, the words hadn’t just reached him.
They’dgotten in.
When he got homethat night, Colin found David waiting in the kitchen.
It was late. Quiet. The kind of quiet that usually suited him.
But not now.
David stood at the stove in a sweater and jeans, one hand on the plunger of his French press. He didn’t turn when Colin entered.
“You look like hell,” David said evenly.
“Good evening to you, too. Where’s Josh and Nate?”
“At the house—helping Graham unpack boxes of kitchen tile.”
Colin nodded. “I didn’t know.”
“Would it have mattered if you had?” David pressed the plunger down. “You going to pretend this is all normal, or are you finally ready to stop bullshitting the people who love you?”
Colin leaned against the doorframe, already weary. “If you’re going to lecture me?—”
“I’m not.” David poured two mugs and slid one across the counter. “Well, maybe I am. But mostly? I’m here to remind you that you donotlive on Mount Olympus.”
Colin blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” David finally turned to face him. “You’re not omniscient. You don’t grant life. You don’t deal out death. You don’t control the mind of a madman. You’re not god, Colin.”
Colin’s hands curled around the mug, knuckles white.
“I know you think you failed. That if you’d done just one more thing—beenone more thing—Sarah and Hannibal would be alive and your house wouldn’t be ashes. But that fantasy? That illusion that it’s somehowyourjob to save everyone? That’s not noble, Colin. It’s not heroic. It’s ego! Arrogant, impossible ego.”
