8. Harlan - Explosion Of Colour
HARLAN - EXPLOSION OF COLOUR
I showed up at the hospital early. Coffee in hand. Three cups.
I wasn’t sure who’d still be here, but something told me Ava wouldn’t have left.
And if Ava was here, then I knew deep down so was Remi.
I hadn't known them for long, barely a day, but I had gathered that much about them. I figured the third cup might go untouched, but it felt wrong to show up without one. Like I was still trying to make up for something I hadn’t fully named.
The parking lot was quiet. A pale blue November sky breaking over the tops of pine trees, the kind of cold morning light that didn’t warm a damn thing.
My boots echoed too loudly in the corridor, a reminder that the world hadn’t quite woken up yet.
I was working my way towards the elevators when someone caught my eye.
I found her outside, sitting alone on a concrete bench tucked beside the east wing. The sun was barely up, just a smear of gold along the edge of the sky, but she was already there. Alert. Quiet. Watching the horizon like it might offer answers.
Her hood was pulled up, but wisps of dark auburn hair curled out from beneath it. Her hands were clasped around nothing with her sleeves pulled tight, but her posture was steady. Like a soldier waiting on orders. Or a woman waiting for the next punch from the world.
I hesitated for a second, then walked over.
"Didn’t peg you for a morning person, Ms. Carter," I said, holding out one of the cups.
She didn’t take it right away. Just studied me with that quiet, serious gaze that didn't match her youth. Hazel eyes flecked with green, sharp and old in a way that made me feel like she’d lived three lives before this one. The kind of wisdom you didn’t earn in years. You earned it in scars.
Finally, she reached forward, fingers brushing mine.
"Figured you’d still be here," I added.
She nodded once.
We sat in silence. The kind that felt companionable, not heavy.
I hadn’t meant to talk, but something about her made it easy.
Maybe it was the way she didn’t push. Didn’t flinch.
Like she was here waiting for me... waiting to listen.
Waiting to give me a chance to be heard.
Which instantly made me understand why she excelled at her job.
"I promise I’m not a bad guy," I said.
She didn’t smile, didn't frown. Just waited.
"I came back to Sable Valley about a year ago. After… a loss. Someone in my unit. We were close. I broke protocol. Didn’t follow the rules, and it cost me more than I can explain."
Remi didn’t interrupt. Just sipped her coffee and listened.
"After that, I needed to come home. Started working under my dad. He was the chief here for years. Old-school, but good at what he did. He passed six months ago. A heart attack, it was sudden and unexpected."
Remi’s eyes softened. "I’m sorry."
"Thank you. I took over after that. No ceremony. No time to think. Just stepped in, and it’s been a blur ever since."
She leaned back against the bench, one leg folded under her. She studied me in a way that would be unnerving if it were from anyone else... but from her, it felt like she was trying to understand me.
"Grief does that," she said. "Makes everything move too fast. And somehow too slow. You take on things you’re not ready for because you don’t have a choice. Doesn’t excuse being blind to what’s right in front of you, though."
That one hit. But I didn’t flinch because she wasn’t wrong.
Last night hadn’t let me sleep. I’d stayed until the last evidence bag was sealed, until the evidence techs cleared the scene, until the aunt was loaded into the ambulance and Ava disappeared in its wake.
I kept thinking, had I moved fast enough?
Had I dismissed Ava’s concerns too quickly?
Had I clung too tightly to procedure while a girl bled out?
I followed the rules. Right... hadn't I?
"I follow the rules, Remi. I have to. The law’s there for a reason."
She looked over at me, her voice soft but steady. "You know what I always found funny? Not funny, ha-ha… but the sad kind of funny? The rules, the law, they bend for people with power. But for those of us without it? It’s all black and white. Rigid."
She shifted her tone, did a mock impression of a stiff-jawed man. "‘Rules are rules, miss.’"
Then her eyes found mine again. Clear. Sharp.
"But the world isn’t black and white, Chief. It’s shades of grey. It’s an explosion of colours no one wants to name. And in my experience, more often than not, things aren't always as they seem, and not every situation calls for the same interpretation or misinterpretation of the rules."
I didn’t know what to say to that. Not yet. But fuck if what she said didn't make sense. How could someone so young see and understand the world so clearly?
She stood and dusted off her jeans. "Thanks for the coffee, Chief."
And then she walked away, leaving me alone on the bench, the sunrise creeping higher, and too many damn thoughts in my head.
I watched her disappear through the glass doors. Tall, somehow lean and yet curvy framed, but steady spined, sure in her steps. The kind of person you want on your side. The type of person you didn't want to disappoint.
And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like a man standing still in his integrity. I didn't feel sure in my steps.
I felt like a man who’d just been handed a mirror and wasn't sure how he felt about what he saw.