The night stretches on, long and quiet. Outside, the street’s empty now, the town asleep. Inside, the station hums softly—computers, scanner, the steady tick of the clock.
For the first time in hours, my heartbeat starts to slow. Work helps. Focus helps.
Maybe if I bury myself deep enough in this job, I can forget her.
At least that’s the lie I tell myself as the clock hits midnight and I start another pot of coffee.
Millie
The sound of the door creaking open yanks me out of a half-dream. My heart jumps before my mind catches up, disoriented in the dim glow from the kitchen night-light.
Nimbus lifts his head from the end of the couch, lets out a single indignant meow, and bounds off the blanket in a gray blur. His paws hit the floor in soft thuds as he darts toward the doorway.
I blink, trying to make sense of the figure standing there. The door shuts quietly, the click too careful to be an accident. Liam.
He moves like he’s hoping not to wake anyone, but Nimbus ruins that plan, rubbing his little face against Liam’s boots and purring like he hasn’t just been ignoring my texts for five hours. Liam bends down to stroke him, his big hand moving slowly along the cat’s back, eyes half-lidded.
Then he straightens, shrugging off his riding coat and tossing it over the arm of the chair. His boots hit the floor with a dull thud.
“What time is it?” My voice sounds scratchy, sleep-rough.
“Two,” he says flatly.
I push the blanket off my legs and sit up. “You weren’t answering my texts. I thought maybe?—”
“Don’t,” he cuts in with a shallow laugh that isn’t amused. “Don’t fucking worry about me.”
The words sting more than I expect them to. Too casual, like he’s swatting away a fly. I pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders, suddenly cold. “I do worry about you. Liam, you’re like family to me. Of course I worry.”
He stops midway through pulling off his sweater, his chestnut hair catching in the faint light. His eyes lift, dark and sharp, and for a second, I think he’s going to say something real. But he just exhales, shoulders sagging. “I need to go to bed. I’m tired.”
“I made dinner,” I say quickly, because the silence feels unbearable. “There’s pasta left if you want?—”
“I’m not hungry.”
He turns to head down the hallway, but something inside me won’t let it go. “Liam, wait.”
He stops. Doesn’t turn. “What?”
The word comes out on a sigh, tight with frustration.
I stand, barefoot, the floor cool under my toes. I’m really trying to be patient with him, but I don’t get where all this aggression is coming from. “Is your mom okay?” I ask.
“She’s okay.”
“Liam? Are you okay?”
“I said I’m fine. I really don’t want to talk right now, alright?”
I should let it go. I should, but…
“I know you have that whole thing with cops, so I just wanted to make sure you were good. I was worried about you. I can make you a plate, and then we can talk for a bit.”
He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face, jaw tight. “I ate with Maddox, okay? I’m fine.”
“So that’s where you were,” I say before I can stop myself.
He spins then, eyes narrowing. “Can we not do the twenty-one questions thing tonight? I’m not in the mood.”
