Page 5 of Branded Hearts

He leans back, unfazed by my clipped response. “You’re a tough nut to crack, Mitchell. One day, I’ll get you to crack a smile.”

Good luck with that, Daniels.

The idea of me cracking a smile feels as unlikely as Wattle Creek suddenly transforming into a bustling metropolis. If anything, I’ve mastered the art of maintaining a stoic expression, a skill honed through years of navigating the ins and outs of this small town.

The town, basking in the soft glow of afternoon sunlight, seems to be in a relaxed state, much like the rest of its inhabitants.

The radio crackles to life with a static-filled voice, breaking the monotony of the afternoon patrol. “Attention all units, we’ve got a potential disturbance reported at Blossom Haven. Caller reports raised voices and some commotion inside.” There’s a brief pausebefore the dispatcher adds, “Caller also mentioned a male possibly in possession of a weapon. Proceed with caution, over.”

Daniels glances at me, a flicker of excitement in his eyes.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a case, Mitchell. Ready for some action?”

I nod, reaching for the radio intercom. “Copy radio. This is Mitchell and Daniels. We’re heading over. We will be red and ten.”

Sirens blaring, Daniels picks up speed as we make our way toward the florist, located near our Town Square. As we pull up outside the floral shop, we exit the car swiftly, my hand steady on my taser holstered at my right side. Daniels has his gun out, ready if necessary. He glances at me, catching the subtle movement, and I offer a silent acknowledgment.

An older man, dishevelled and clearly under the influence of an illicit substance, stumbles around the shop in a daze. Daniels swings the door open abruptly, and the man’s slurred words fill the air as he sways unsteadily. In his trembling hands, he clutches a small knife, adding urgency to the already tense situation.

His movements become erratic, as he incoherently demands money from the floral shop till. The woman’s pleas for help, from behind the till, take on a more urgent tone.

“Officers, please, he’s trying to rob us!” We approach cautiously, moving toward the commotion, and as I scan the surroundings, I am abruptly halted in my tracks. There, standing in the corner next to a frightened elderly woman, is Amelia Brown.

Amelia Brown—my sister’s best friend, her face etched with pureshock.

My breath catches, as if the air has been sucked out of the room. Panic courses through me at the sight of Amelia, stirring old feelings that clutch at me, feeding the fear of seeing her in this situation.

Daniels moves with purpose, swiftly positioning himself closer to the man. His gun is up, held steady, while my hand remains firm on the taser.

“Sir, I’m gonna need you to step away from the counter. Now,” Daniels commands, his voice firm and authoritative.

The man sways, his words slurred and desperate. “N-need cash, y’know? Jus’ a little, okay? Jus’ a l’il, mate.”

Daniels’ urgency is palpable, his command echoing in the tense atmosphere of the shop. “Drop your weapon immediately, sir. This is your last warning. Step away, or we’ll be forced to take action.”

Time compresses into a series of heartbeats in my ears.

2

Teaching kindergarten is like being the ringmaster of a circus where the clowns are on a sugar high. Today’s highlight—convincing little Timmy that crayons are not, in fact, a food group. Oh, the adventures of moulding young minds!

Post-crayon escapade, I decide to reward myself with a bouquet from Blossom Haven because, let’s face it, flowers are my version of therapy.

I mean, who needs a therapist when you have lilies, right?

As I step into the shop, my mind dances among the vibrant hues of flowers, seeking the perfect bouquet to brighten up my apartment. The sweet scents of lilies and roses saturate the air, wrapping me in a fragrant cocoon as I delicately pluck each flower, weaving a masterpiece rivalling the colours of a summer sunrise.

I’m in the middle of admiring the beautiful flowers, lost in their vibrant colours and gentle sway, when my peaceful bubble is suddenly popped by the arrival of a sketchy-looking guy. He slouches in, hand buried deep in his pocket, stumbling like he’s either drunk or high. The other customers, an elderly woman and a young couple, are tooengrossed in their own flower picking to notice him. A chill runs down my spine, causing every hair on my body to stand at attention.

My heart pounds frantically against my ribcage as a sense of creeping dread envelops me. The once peaceful atmosphere turns ominously sinister as the man inches closer to the woman behind the counter. Without warning, he whips out a menacing blade, thrusting it toward her with slurred demands for money from the till. Panic floods through me like a tidal wave. The florist lets out a terrified scream, the young couple next to me freeze in fear, and chaos erupts all around me.

I am paralysed by terror, unable to move or think as danger looms just feet away from me.

The poor lady behind the counter is now a picture of pure panic, her eyes silently begging for someone, anyone, to step in. In the middle of this chaos, the young guy with his girlfriend catches on to what’s happening and pulls out his phone.

He presses it to his ear, clearly calling triple zero for help. The sketchy guy’s voice gets louder and more frantic as he demands the money again. The woman behind the counter, tears starting to well up, opens the cash register, her hands trembling uncontrollably.

The young guy, still clutching his phone, moves cautiously. His girlfriend grabs his shoulder, silently begging him to stop. He turns to the drunk man, his voice steady but tense. “Hey, man, put the knife away. I’ve called the cops.”

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