1

" M orning, Mitchell," Daniels chirps, the cheeriness in his voice echoing through the dull police station. My eyes stay fixed on the paperwork as I mumble a greeting, fighting the urge to roll them at his overly upbeat demeanour.

Dim fluorescent lights flicker above our timeworn desks, casting a feeble illumination across the small police station. Here, time meanders at a pace slower than a lazy river's gentle current, and the crime rate is as riveting as watching paint dry on a picket fence.

Yet, within the unhurried cadence of provincial life, I wouldn't barter it for the hectic life of working on our family farm or the relentless bustle of city life. Xavier still gladly takes up the mantle on the farm.

Over the years, I've progressed from a young prospect to constable and now senior constable. Offers to transfer to Sydney or pursue loftier opportunities have dangled before me like tempting carrots, but I've swatted them away, one after another. I guess I'm too rooted to this town.

There's a part of me that occasionally flirts with regret, the ‘what-ifs' lingering in the corners of my mind. Yet, another part of me finds comfort in the snug embrace of this small town, where everyone knows everyone, and the rhythm of life—though it may seem monotonous, it bears the weight of a blessing in its comforting predictability.

"You look like you swallowed a lemon. What's eating at you today?" Daniels continues.

"Same old, Daniels—your perpetual sunshine presence," I mutter, the snark slipping through my usually reserved exterior.

He chuckles, taking a sip of his coffee. "Got anything exciting to deal with, or is it just the thrilling world of paperwork for you today?"

"Yeah," I grunt, offering nothing more. I can feel Daniels' gaze lingering, waiting for a more elaborate response, but I'm not in the mood for small talk or his attempts to inject excitement into the mundane.

Officer John Reynolds saunters in, a file in hand, and joins the impromptu morning gathering. "What's got Mitchell's panties in a twist today?" he asks, smirking as he eyes me.

"Oh, he's in his usual sunshine mood," Daniels retorts. "Today has dragged on, man… I need something exciting to happen," he adds with a glint in his eyes.

"Good luck with that," I quip .

Daniels jumps back in, "Well, on the bright side, you should be excited, Bradley. Less crime means more time to perfect your scowl."

"Mhm," I grumble, my tone making it clear that I'm not interested in pursuing this line of conversation.

Reynolds leans against the desk, laughing while flipping through his file. "Got anything exciting in that paperwork of yours, Mitchell?"

I give him a curt nod, not bothering to look up. "Just the riveting saga of unpaid parking tickets and noise complaints. The usual thrill."

My words hang in the air, a heavy acknowledgment of the monotony that defines our days in this sleepy town.

"Come on, Mitchell. You're just not appreciating the subtle art of small-town drama. Remember the time Mrs. Turner accused old man Mr. Whittle of stealing her prized geraniums?"

I raise an eyebrow, unamused. "Yeah, thrilling stuff. I'm living on the edge of my seat."

Reynolds smirks, his amusement unabated. "You never know, Mitchell. One day, we might get a case that shakes this town to its core." Yeah… that'll be the day.

I scoff, more to myself than anyone else. "In this town? The most excitement we get is when someone's cow wanders onto Main Street."

The engine hums to life as I settle into the familiar leather of the police car's passenger seat. Daniels slides into the driver's seat.

"Ready for another patrol, Mitchell?" He grins, turning the key in the ignition.

"Just drive, Daniels," I mutter, eyes fixed on the road ahead.

He chuckles, undeterred. "Come on, Bradley Bear, loosen up a bit. You might actually enjoy yourself."

I shoot him a sidelong glance, my annoyance barely contained. "I enjoy doing my job, Daniels. No need for the extra frills."

He leans back, unfazed by my clipped response. "You're a tough nut to crack, Mitchell. One day, I'll get you to crack a smile."

Good luck with that, Daniels.

The idea of me cracking a smile feels as unlikely as Wattle Creek suddenly transforming into a bustling metropolis. If anything, I've mastered the art of maintaining a stoic expression, a skill honed through years of navigating the ins and outs of this small town.

The town, basking in the soft glow of afternoon sunlight, seems to be in a relaxed state, much like the rest of its inhabitants.

The radio crackles to life with a static-filled voice, breaking the monotony of the afternoon patrol. "Attention all units, we've got a potential disturbance reported at Blossom Haven. Caller reports raised voices and some commotion inside." There's a brief pause before the dispatcher adds, "Caller also mentioned a male possibly in possession of a weapon. Proceed with caution, over."

Daniels glances at me, a flicker of excitement in his eyes.

"Looks like we've got ourselves a case, Mitchell. Ready for some action?"

I nod, reaching for the radio intercom. "Copy radio. This is Mitchell and Daniels. We're heading over. We will be red and ten."

Sirens blaring, Daniels picks up speed as we make our way toward the florist, located near our Town Square. As we pull up outside the floral shop, we exit the car swiftly, my hand steady on my taser holstered at my right side. Daniels has his gun out, ready if necessary. He glances at me, catching the subtle movement, and I offer a silent acknowledgment.

An older man, dishevelled and clearly under the influence of an illicit substance, stumbles around the shop in a daze. Daniels swings the door open abruptly, and the man's slurred words fill the air as he sways unsteadily. In his trembling hands, he clutches a small knife, adding urgency to the already tense situation.

His movements become erratic, as he incoherently demands money from the floral shop till. The woman's pleas for help, from behind the till, take on a more urgent tone.

"Officers, please, he's trying to rob us!" We approach cautiously, moving toward the commotion, and as I scan the surroundings, I am abruptly halted in my tracks. There, standing in the corner next to a frightened elderly woman, is Amelia Brown.

Amelia Brown— my sister's best friend, her face etched with pure shock.

My breath catches, as if the air has been sucked out of the room. Panic courses through me at the sight of Amelia, stirring old feelings that clutch at me, feeding the fear of seeing her in this situation.

Daniels moves with purpose, swiftly positioning himself closer to the man. His gun is up, held steady, while my hand remains firm on the taser.

"Sir, I'm gonna need you to step away from the counter. Now," Daniels commands, his voice firm and authoritative.

The man sways, his words slurred and desperate. "N-need cash, y'know? Jus' a little, okay? Jus' a l'il, mate."

Daniels' urgency is palpable, his command echoing in the tense atmosphere of the shop. "Drop your weapon immediately, sir. This is your last warning. Step away, or we'll be forced to take action."

Time compresses into a series of heartbeats in my ears.