If No One Else

ᶜʰᵃᵖᵗᵉʳ ⁴

4. b r e a t h e f o r m e
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"Hey, did you ever find out who busted up your car the other night?"

I glance up from my computer. Wilkinson leans against the edge of my desk, arms crossed and smirking like he already knows the answer.

"Yeah. Some girl named Chandler Donovan," I mutter, flicking my eyes to his before returning to the screen.

He lets out a laugh. "That's golden. I told her to stay out of trouble, and what does she do? Trashes a cop's car. Classic Chandler."

"You already knew her?" I ask, keeping my gaze down this time. I don't want him to see what might be showing in my eyes.

"Herrera, it's a small town. Of course I know her. She's been around since my family moved here—eight, nine years ago. She and my sister are close, so I got roped into knowing her."

He laughs like it should be obvious. And maybe it is.

"Her parents aren't exactly nurturing. Rich as hell, but probably couldn't tell you what her middle name is. She's been alone for as long as I've known her. Struggles a lot... but she's still here. I respect that."

"'Struggle' is an understatement," I say flatly. "I haven't even been here a month and she's already a problem."

"She's rough around the edges, yeah," he admits. "But she keeps the job interesting."

"No. You know what would help your job? Holding her accountable. When I shut down her party, she tried to bribe me—repeatedly. Makes me wonder how often that's worked for her."

My tone shifts—cool and cutting. The kind of tone that makes people uncomfortable. But Wilkinson just tilts his head, unreadable.

"She's a kid, Gael. A dumb, impulsive kid. Haven't we all been there? We didn't sign up to chase after teenage parties. We became cops to stop the real threats. You know that."

"I've seen her record," I say, sharper than I mean to. "Mistakes don't happen that many times by accident."

He crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow. "She's not evil. She just needs some guidance. From the way you're talking, sounds like you hate her guts. And she wasn't lying when she said you were an asshole."

"If having a moral compass makes me that," I mutter, "then fine. I'll take it."

He throws up his hands, exasperated. The irritation breaks through his usually chill demeanor. "Well, if you're so fired up, go ahead—file the paperwork. Call in a warrant. Since you're the department's moral compass commander now."

He grabs his belongings from my desk and turns toward the exit.

"I was gonna ask if you wanted to hit Garvin's tonight, but never mind. Clearly, you've got better things to do. Have a good night, Gael."

"Elijah, wai—"

But he's already out the door before I can even finish my thought.

I sit back in my chair, the silence swallowing the room like a heavy fog. My elbows hit the desk as I drop my head into my hands and try to breathe through the ache gnawing at the edge of my skull.

What the hell am I doing here?

Every day in Kenton Grove feels like I'm pretending to be someone I'm not. The badge is still heavy, but not in the right way. The job used to bring me something—purpose, maybe. Now it just brings headaches.