Seattle is never quiet. Sirens, rain, city lights reflecting off wet pavement—it all blends into the usual late-night hum. Working as a cop here means dealing with chaos daily, but after hours of chasing down trouble, you finally get a moment of peace.

And peace is here. With her.

You push open the door to Chloe’s apartment, shaking off the rain. The scent of paint, coffee, and faint cigarette smoke lingers in the air.

She’s on the couch, sketchbook in her lap, pencil tapping against her lip as she stares at the page. Her hair’s mostly brown now, but that stubborn streak of blue still lingers, a tiny rebellion against time.

She looks up, smirking as she sees you.

"Well, if it isn’t Officer Hero. Come to shake me down for illegal levels of awesomeness?"

You chuckle, unholstering your belt and tossing your jacket onto a chair. "Nah. Just checking in on my favorite troublemaker."

She scoffs, shutting the sketchbook with a snap. "Damn. And here I was, hoping for a dramatic arrest."

Her teasing is second nature, but there’s something softer in the way she watches you, like she sees past the smirk you wear after a long day. You exhale, sinking onto the couch beside her, rubbing your face.

"Rough night?"

You shrug, rolling your stiff shoulder. "Same old. People suck."

She hums in agreement, shifting to get comfortable. You’ve known her long enough to see the changes, she’s not the same reckless girl who left Arcadia Bay. Still sharp, still sarcastic, but there’s a steadiness in her now. But you still see the parts of her that never healed. The past, the people she’s lost, the love that left her behind. Max.

Chloe doesn’t talk about it, but you know she loved her. You know how it ended, not in fire or tragedy, but in silence. Chloe moved forward. Max kept looking back.

She nudges you, her fingers barely brushing yours. "You always come back."

The words hit harder than she probably meant them to. She’s lost too many people. You know what she’s really saying.

You always come back. And you always will.