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I wrote it all down, my anger growing.

When she finished, I looked up. “I’m going to run his information. The truck plate, the phone number.”

“Do you think you’ll find anything?”

I thought so, yes, but I didn’t want to freak her out. “Guys like this... they usually have a history.”

Jo was quiet, her fingers flicking at her nails nervously. “Lane, I don’t want to be a burden. You have your job and Remy and⁠—”

“You’re not a burden.” The words came out harsh. I stood, moving closer. “Jo, you could never be a burden.”

Our eyes met.

“I just don’t want to be another obligation on your list,” she said softly.

“You’re not an obligation.” I crouched down, so we were at eye level. “You’re...”

What? What was she?

“You matter to me,” I said finally. “Remy’s wellbeing matters, yes. But you... you matter too.”

Her breath caught, and her eyes softened with some emotion. “Lane⁠—”

That was when I realized we were both dancing around how we felt.

“I know this is complicated. I know there are boundaries.” I reached out slowly and took her hand. “But I need you to know you’re not an obligation.”

My radio crackled. Dispatch.

“Daniels.”

“Lane, we’ve got a 10-50 on Highway 34.”

Traffic accident.

“Copy. En route.” I looked at Jo. “I have to go.”

“I know.”

“I’m increasing patrols near the school and your apartment. Call me if anything else happens. Anything, Josephine.”

“Okay.”

I stood but didn’t move toward the door. “I meant what I said. You matter.”

She looked up at me. “You matter to me, too.”

The moment stretched between us, charged.

Then my phone buzzed, reminding me I was supposed to be moving. “Come on. I’ll walk you to your car.”

We explained the situation briefly to Principal Taft. “I’ll check the camera footage,” he said.

“Thank you. If you find anything, call me.”

I walked Jo out to her car and held the door. The fall breeze played with her honey gold hair. “Text me that you made it home safely.”

“I will. Thank you, Lane.”