The station had finally gone still.
No radio chatter. No ringing phones. Just the hum of old ceiling lights and the occasional creak of Elmwood PD settling into its foundation like an old, tired beast.
Alex sat slouched at his desk in the corner of the main room, a half-finished report open in front of him, the drone footage paused on a single frame—static washing over half the image. His hand was still wrapped around a lukewarm cup of coffee when sleep finally took him.
In the back of the station, Jade lay curled on a narrow padded bench, wrapped in a station-issued blanket. The room was dim and cold. But after four days in the woods, it felt like a luxury suite. The walls didn't breathe. The floor didn't move. And nothing whispered from the trees.
He slept like someone who hadn't been allowed to in days.
⸻
Morning.
Sunlight didn't so much pour through the windows as bleed in—weak, filtered through fog and frost. The station remained quiet, the overnight staff switching out with the early crew.
Alex woke with a crick in his neck and the taste of burnt coffee on his tongue. His shoulder ached. He blinked blearily at the monitor, then glanced at the clock.
7:12 a.m.
He groaned, sat up, and stretched—bones cracking. Then reached for the phone.
He pulled up the number from Jade's file and dialed.
It rang twice.
"Hello?" A man's voice. Sharp.
"Mr. Colter?" Alex said, rubbing his eyes.
"Who is this?"
"Detective Alex Conor. Elmwood PD. Your son was found last night. Alive. We need you to come down to the station."
There was a pause—just long enough to notice.
"We'll be there shortly." The line went silent. No questions. No emotion. No 'Is he okay?'
Alex hung up, staring at the phone a moment longer than necessary.
He pushed himself up and headed toward the back, knocking lightly on the door before cracking it open.
Jade was still asleep, one arm draped off the bench, the card Alex had given him resting beneath his open hand.
He looked younger when he slept. Smaller. Like the weight hadn't quite reattached itself yet.
Alex didn't wake him. Just closed the door quietly and walked away.
Thirty minutes later.
The front door buzzed.
Alex looked up from a fresh cup of coffee. The Colters had arrived.
They entered the station like they were stepping into enemy territory.
Mr. Colter in pressed slacks and boots that clicked too loud against the tile. Mrs. Colter in a high-neck blouse and a permanent scowl. They didn't pause at the desk. Didn't speak to the receptionist.
Just made straight for the hallway.
Alex intercepted them halfway.
"Mr. and Mrs. Colter," he said. "Your son—"
"We'll take him now," the father snapped.
Alex raised a hand, stepping in their path. "He's asleep. And I need to talk to you first."
"We don't have time for this," the mother said. "He's been missing four days. Only God knows where he ran off to. We're taking him home."
Alex's voice was calm, but sharp-edged. "No. You're not."
"What did you say?" the father asked.
Alex met his gaze without flinching. "He's staying here under protective hold until Child Protective Services has a chance to speak with him."
"He's our son."
"He's a minor. A traumatized one," Alex said, unmoving. "And he's not leaving this station until I know he's going somewhere safe."
"We are what's safe," the mother snapped.
Alex's voice dropped lower. "Funny. He didn't flinch when he saw the forest. Or the drone footage. But he did when we mentioned you."
The silence that followed was heavy.
Inside the hallway behind them, the door to the interview room creaked open.
Jade stood there, blanket still around his shoulders, hair messy, eyes heavy from sleep.
He saw them.
And like before—he flinched.
Alex turned back to the Colters. That was all he needed.
"You can go."
"Excuse me?" Mr. Colter bristled.
Alex stepped between them and Jade. "I'm not going to say it again."
"You have no right—" the mother began.
Alex cut her off. "Your son has been missing for four days and you haven't asked about his well-being once since you stepped foot in here. A traumatized boy lost in the woods for days! I have every right. And if you don't walk out of this station right now, I'll call in a welfare check on your household and put your entire damn history under review. Don't test me."
They stared him down—tight-lipped, furious—but they turned.
Something in the mother's eyes flickered—guilt? No. Just anger. But not at what happened. At being told no.
And walked out.
Jade didn't speak.
Alex walked over slowly and crouched beside him. "You heard all that?"
Jade gave the smallest nod.
"I meant it," Alex said. "You're not going back. Not like that."
Jade looked at him, and for the first time, his face cracked just slightly. Not relief. Not gratitude. Something deeper. Something that might become trust.