Hailey walked alongside Emily, trying to piece together everything that had happened since the last time they’d seen each other.
“Settling in? Yes and no,” she said with a shrug. She’d fallen into a routine—not one she’d created herself, but one shaped by the predictable flow of "crime" in Upper Fens.
Every evening, she’d punch in and pick up her cruiser. She was on solo patrol—not entirely sure why. Maybe the area didn’t warrant partnered officers. Or maybe the force was struggling to find people. She couldn’t imagine the latter. It was a good, respectable job where you could do some good in the world. And yet, some nights, Hailey couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t making much of an impact at all.
Once in her car, she always made her first stop at the Ink Pot for a cup of coffee. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t spend all her money there, that she’d bring her own coffee from home. That resolve lasted about a week.
“I’m tired, like, all the time,” Hailey admitted with a laugh, glancing at Emily. “The Ink Pot is about the only thing keeping me coming to work most nights.”
Her nights usually followed the same pattern: a few hours of pulling people over for running stop signs, followed by the inevitable call to Eden Cemetery.
“Eden Cemetery gives me the creeps,” Hailey said, her voice dropping slightly. “I swear the statues move—” she sighed, “or maybe it’s just because I’m not sleeping well.” She rubbed the back of her neck, offering Emily a sheepish smile.
“Have you ever worked that part of town?” she asked, curious if Emily had any stories to share.
“Settling in? Yes and no,” she said with a shrug. She’d fallen into a routine—not one she’d created herself, but one shaped by the predictable flow of "crime" in Upper Fens.
Every evening, she’d punch in and pick up her cruiser. She was on solo patrol—not entirely sure why. Maybe the area didn’t warrant partnered officers. Or maybe the force was struggling to find people. She couldn’t imagine the latter. It was a good, respectable job where you could do some good in the world. And yet, some nights, Hailey couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t making much of an impact at all.
Once in her car, she always made her first stop at the Ink Pot for a cup of coffee. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t spend all her money there, that she’d bring her own coffee from home. That resolve lasted about a week.
“I’m tired, like, all the time,” Hailey admitted with a laugh, glancing at Emily. “The Ink Pot is about the only thing keeping me coming to work most nights.”
Her nights usually followed the same pattern: a few hours of pulling people over for running stop signs, followed by the inevitable call to Eden Cemetery.
“Eden Cemetery gives me the creeps,” Hailey said, her voice dropping slightly. “I swear the statues move—” she sighed, “or maybe it’s just because I’m not sleeping well.” She rubbed the back of her neck, offering Emily a sheepish smile.
“Have you ever worked that part of town?” she asked, curious if Emily had any stories to share.