Page 36 of Begin Again

“You good?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

“Yeah.” His response is too quick, too sharp around the edges to be true. Then, after a beat, he exhales, long and slow, “It’s just… everything feels connected, you know? Like all these loose threads are starting to tangle together, and I don’t know if I’m ready for what we’re about to find.”

His words settle like a stone in my chest because—yeah. I get that. More than he knows.

“Join the club,” I murmur, gripping the wheel a little tighter. “We’ll figure it out. We have to.”

I don’t know if I say it for him or myself. Maybe both.

By the time we pull into the sheriff’s department parking lot, the air feels heavier. The building looms ahead, washed in that sickly fluorescent glow that makes everything look off, like a place caught between worlds.

It’s too quiet.

Not the usual quiet that comes with the late hour, but the kind that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The kind that makes you feel like you’re being watched.

The parking lot is almost empty, but it doesn’t feel abandoned. It feels like the moment before a storm breaks like the whole town is holding its breath.

I park the truck and cut the engine, but neither of us moves right away.

“This is gonna be bad, isn’t it?” Bennett asks, his voice quieter than before.

I glance at him, then back at the building.

“Yeah,” I say finally, the weight of the night settling deep in my bones. “I think it is.”

And then, without another word, we get out and head inside.

The moment we step through the doors, the scent of burnt coffee and old paper hits me—a mix of stale caffeine and the kind of institutional air that lingers in places like this. The sheriff’s department always feels the same: dim, slightly too cold, with a strange hum of energy beneath the surface, like a living thing waiting for the next big piece of bad news to roll in.

Not that anything happens in a town like Shadow Grove.

At the front desk, Nancy barely looks up from her magazine, her manicured fingers idly flipping the page. She’s been working here forever, knows everything that happens in this town before it even happens, and somehow, she still has time to keep up with the latest celebrity scandals.

Finally, she glances up, lips quirking in a knowing smile. “Back at it again?”

There’s amusement in her tone like she already has a theory about why we’re here. Probably thinks I am getting into trouble—or trying to dig my way out of it. Wouldn’t be the first time someone assumed that.

“Something like that,” I say, offering her a tight smile. “Can you let Mo know we’re here?”

“She let me know to look out for you, so I let her know as soon as I saw your truck.,” Nancy replies easily, tapping her long nails against the desk. “Said she’d come to grab you when she was ready. You boys staying out of trouble?”

“Trying to,” Bennett says with a smirk, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. There’s no cocky lilt to his voice, no real effort behind it.

Nancy chuckles, clearly not noticing the tension hanging between us, the way the air feels stretched tight like a wire about to snap. “Well, don’t let me keep you. You know where the coffee is if you need it.”

I nod, but the idea of drinking anything right now makes my stomach churn. My nerves are stretched too thin, coiled tight beneath my skin. I can feel the weight of whatever’s coming pressing down on me, making my shoulders tense, my hands itch to do a task—anything—to shake this feeling off.

We don’t have to wait long before Mo appears, her expression grim as she motions for us to follow.

“Come on. We need to talk.”

There’s no teasing in her tone, no casual ease to cushion whatever’s coming next. Just a direct order, clipped and serious. That alone is enough to make my pulse pick up.

The hallway seems longer than usual as we follow her, the overhead fluorescents buzzing faintly, casting sharp angles of light and shadow along the walls. The smell of cheap disinfectant lingers in the air, but it doesn’t do much to cover the underlying scent of paper and old dust.

Gabe’s office looms ahead, and the second we step inside, it feels like the air shifts—thicker, heavier, like the room itself is bracing for what’s about to happen. It’s ridiculous, but I swear even the walls know we’re walking into something bigger than we understand.

The glow of the computer screen is the only real light in the dim office, casting eerie blue shadows across the desk. The familiar clutter of Gabe’s things—his old leather notebook, the empty coffee cup still sitting near the monitor, a pen resting at an odd angle like he just set it down—makes my chest tighten.

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