Despite the chaos amidst the small town of Broadchurch, the beach was oddly silent. The only sounds prominent were the gentle lapping of the waves against the sand, and the occasional strong breeze. Night was approaching slowly. The sun had already begun falling, painting the skies a soft orange-ish hue. It looked like something you’d see in a picture, or maybe a summer-themed calendar. Overall it simply seemed too peaceful.

Standing tiredly in the sand was a familiar face. It was an older man with messy brown hair and tired brown eyes. His dark trench coat swayed in the wind, as did his hair. Though the man’s clothing looked formal, he seemed to carry a sense of disorderliness. He was too busy to focus on useless things like that anyways. That man was DI Hardy. His eyes rested on the moving waves, clearly lost in a deep state of thought.