What I kept hearing were the questions.
“What time did you arrive, Ms. Sinclair?” “Did you enter through thefront or back?” “Can you confirm if the door was already ajar?” “Did you touch anything besides the victims?”
Victims.
As if she weren’t a person with dreams and grit and laughter. As if she hadn’t once cried in relief in my office because she thought maybe, just maybe, she was finally ready to live again.
I almost lost it right there.
The questions got colder. Sharper. Less about justice, more about justification.Why was I there? Why didn’t I call first? Why didn’t I wait for backup?
Because she was dying.
Because she was dead.
Because I did ask for help... for 'backup'.
Because I fucking knew something was wrong.
“Enough,” Remi had said sharply, stepping between me and the clipboard cop, voice low and cutting. “She’s answered enough.”
The medic interrupted next.“We need to get you looked at Ms. Sinclair, would you like to ride with Ms. Cross?”
I stood slowly. Looked the officer in the eye. My voice came out like steel wrapped in silk.
“You want more answers? Meet me at the hospital. But if you ask me one more time why I was there instead of you...”
The hospital hallway was cold and sterile.
I sat in a plastic chair outside Ms. Cross’s treatment room, still in the same pants and shirt, dried blood on the hem. Remi paced the hallway like a caged animal, stopping every few steps to look at me, then keep moving.
Footsteps echoed.
Jack.
He arrived like a storm barely contained, his usually perfect hair was a mess, sleeves rolled to his forearms, breathing hard like he’d sprinted every step between the precinct and here.
“Ava,” he said, crouching down in front of me.
I didn’t move.
He reached for my hand, then thought better of it. “Tell me what you need.”
I looked up at him. Saw the man who seemed to make Remi feel safe. The man who once believed in the law more than its flaws but now saw the truth.
“Do something about Dane,” I said, voice calm, even. “Or I will.”
A nurse appeared down the hallway. "Ms. Sinclair? She's awake. You can come in now."
I stood; legs unsteady but moving. Jack and Remi stayed behind as I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Ms. Cross lay in the bed, an IV in her arm, gauze at her temple, eyes fluttering until they locked onto mine.
We didn’t speak right away. We didn’t need to.
She saw it in my eyes. I saw it in hers.
Recognition. Sorrow. Understanding.
