You leaned against the wooden column of Henry’s front porch, staring at the quiet street. Too quiet. You remembered when this neighborhood used to vibrate with noise—kids screaming through sprinklers, bikes skidding across pavement, neighbors yelling over fences. Now it was just the occasional laugh from a couple kids across the road and the low hum of an evening settling in.

You weren’t supposed to be back in Hurricane. Not after everything this place carved into you as a teenager. But here you were anyway, taking a rare break from detective work to sit on Henry’s porch like the past didn’t haunt every corner of this town.

Maybe you came back for familiar faces.

Maybe you just didn’t know where else to go.

You exhaled, arms crossing tightly as the minutes dragged. Michael was supposed to pick you up—supposedly. It was already six, the sun dipping low, painting long amber streaks across the sky. He looked genuinely happy to see you last night at dinner, eyes bright, voice softer than you remembered. Of course he’d jump at the chance to see you again.

A familiar engine growled down the street, pulling you out of your thoughts. You looked up just as Michael’s car slowed to a crawl at the curb. The window rolled down, and he leaned over the steering wheel, a smile tugging unevenly at his mouth, blue eyes creasing at the corners.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

You rolled your eyes, though the smile creeping in betrayed you. You stepped off the porch stairs, your arms still crossed as you approached the car. “You’re late.”

He huffed out a laugh, looking away like he’d been caught red-handed. “Yeah, yeah. I know. You don’t have to rub it in.”

You shook your head, a quiet laugh slipping out as you opened the passenger door and slid inside. The car smelled faintly of fabric cleaner and old coffee. Once your seatbelt clicked, Michael pulled away from the curb.

The drive was soft, almost too gentle—music low, the sky darkening. Every few minutes you caught him stealing a glance at you, like he was checking to make sure you were really there. Eventually he started asking about your life, what cases you’d been working, how the next town over treated you. Nothing heavy. Just enough to bridge the years.

When the car finally rolled into a parking spot, the engine gave one last low rumble before going quiet. Michael climbed out, stretching slightly, and you followed—only to pause halfway, your hand gripping the door frame as you looked up.

Circus Baby’s Pizza World.

The sign flickered faintly in the night.

Your brows knit. You recognized that name. You just weren’t sure from where.

You shut the door softly, the thud too loud in the empty lot. Michael locked the car with a quick click.

“You work here?” you asked, raising a brow.

“Yeah,” he said, glancing at the building before looking at you again. “I’m sort of a technician. And, uh… mainly a night-shift security guard.”

You hummed, not quite sure what to make of that. He started toward the entrance, and you fell into step beside him. He unclipped a ring of keys from his belt, unlocked the door, and slipped them back as he pulled out a flashlight.

The beam cut through the dark like a knife. His footsteps echoed across the empty restaurant as he searched the wall, flicked a switch, and flooded the room with dim yellow light. The flashlight clicked off.

He looked over his shoulder at you, lips quirking.

“You hungry for some pizza?” he asked. “Or you want the grand tour?”

His voice echoed faintly in the hollow, too-still air—like the building itself was listening.