3. Hart

…as we embrace a new day, let's reflect on the collective strength and resilience that defines this team. Each of you plays a crucial role in our shared journey, contributing to our success and making a positive impact every day.

Hart gave his newest company-wide email another glance. Satisfied it was conveying the right message, he hit send. Being case-free for a day like he had been yesterday really gave him a chance to dedicate himself entirely to building up the team spirit. His small…fall off the wagon had just been a small distraction from his usual productivity. He'd also been able to prep today's national holiday materials.

He glanced at the clock and saw he had a few more minutes to head down to the conference room for their morning briefing. His office was the last one in the long hallway leading from the main lobby to the conference room, but Hart liked to be timely. He picked up his tablet and materials, and with a last check of his calendar, walked out of his office and into the white hallway, metal beams stretching overhead.

He entered the door right next to his, finding the conference room empty as usual. He was used to being first to arrive in the morning, and it benefited him most days, allowing him to set up for the day's festivities without bother or constant interruptions.

He laid the pamphlets he'd printed off yesterday in front of every seat, setting the separate checklists he'd made next to them at precise angles. Each had a name printed on the top and stickers attached—animals for Wren, gold stars for Midas, happy faces for Fix, fire engines for Ash, and rainbows for Black since Hart refused to frequent the websites Black did to find anything more gruesome.

He poured them all coffees and laid out each person's breakfast pastry of choice on napkins, noting to himself that he should really push for some plates and cutlery around the place.

He was just straightening his banner when Taylor, their receptionist and intake manager, waltzed into the room.

"Good morning to my favorite child," she drawled, heels clicking on the stone floor.

Hart glanced over and took in the pink streaks in her hair that hadn't been there the day before, matching the pink suede pants and silver button-up she was wearing. She had open-toed silver boots on and more jewelry than any sane person could possibly need.

If your name wasn't Midas.

"Good morning, Taylor," Hart said, straightening his jacket. He pulled her chair out for her and fixed her a cup of coffee. "Did you sleep well?"

"My downstairs neighbor decided to have a party last night," she said, rolling her eyes so hard Hart was pretty sure they'd get stuck like that eventually.

"So you joined?"

"Obviously." She accepted the steaming coffee and took a large sip, seemingly unbothered by the heat. She was her own species. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"So…" She took another sip of her coffee, eyes moving over the banner and then the table. "National Set a Good Example Day…"

Hart smiled widely at her and passed over her pamphlet and checklist. Her stickers were holographic lips that matched the shade of lipstick she was currently wearing. "A relatively new but very poignant national holiday that I feel will benefit us all greatly."

"I told you HR said you can't just make this shit up," Taylor said.

Hart drew his shoulders back, indignant. "It is a legitimate holiday that was created by—"

Fix walking in with Black draped over his shoulder interrupted the incoming lecture.

"Morning, everyone," Fix said, approaching one of the larger armchairs around the table and setting Black down.

"Morning," Hart said, glancing over Black and trying not to get distracted by the sparkly pink onesie. "Is he okay?"

"He's fine," Fix said, brushing one of Black's curls away from his drooling face. "He found a new gruesome documentary last night and stayed up to watch. I doubt we'll be getting much out of him today."

Hart looked up at Fix and frowned, finally taking in his appearance. "Are you okay?"

Fix startled, looking up into his eyes. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You have a bit of a shadow under your eyes, and you look tired, that's all."

Fix shrugged, grasping his cup of coffee and bringing it closer to his chest. "Just spent the night trying to get Black to get some rest." He shook his head. "He'll never learn."

"And neither will you, it seems," Hart said, looking at Black, who had curled up in his armchair like a cat, and at Fix, who was downing his coffee like his life depended on it. "It's a good thing it's National Set a Good Example Day."

Fix glanced around, like he was noticing how the room was decorated for the first time. "National…"

"Right! Well." Taylor interrupted smoothly, pulling out her tablet and stopping Hart before he could say a single thing to explain. He scowled, and Taylor studiously ignored it. "Midas took his case literally in the middle of the night, and Wren's case is, apparently, never-ending even though he only just got back. They found something else that was seemingly connected, so we'll be going ahead without them."

"Ash?" Fix asked, and Taylor huffed.

"I'm too hungover to sit around waiting for his ass." She swiped at the screen with her long nails. "You both have a case each waiting…"

"WAIT!" The door to the conference room slammed open and Ash burst in headfirst, leaning on his knees to catch his breath.

"Is he on time?" Taylor lifted her tablet to double-check, eyes wide in shock. "I'll be cursed. He is! Your motivational crap seems to be working, Hart."

Hart actually sat up a little straighter. "Make sure you mark a sticker on your chart, Ash. Good job."

"My what? Never mind—oh those stickers are dope! Wait, no…" Ash said, taking the chair next to Fix and fussing with all the things in front of him before refocusing. "I actually have a case, and it's a pretty big one."

Hart frowned at the words, glancing at Taylor, who looked about ready to end Ash right then and there.

"You have a case?" he asked, not giving her the chance to start in on a tirade about her work being stolen from her and how she was already underappreciated as it was. Turnaround was fair play, after all.

"I do, yes," Ash said. "And it's one of yours."

He pointed at Fix and Hart.

Fix crossed his arms over his chest. "How do you know? And why is it coming through you instead of the regular cursebreaker channels?"

"All good questions," Hart said.

Taylor nodded. "I'd like to know too, because if I'm not needed, I have a vacation spot in mind and a rich girlfriend ready to splurge on me. So spill."

"I would if you'd shut up," Ash said, making a face at her. "So, I got a call from Cane last night…"

"No," Hart said, interrupting as rudely as he could.

Ash rolled his eyes. "Hart—"

"No," he said again. "I have made myself clear. I will have nothing to do with whatever mess you've gotten yourself into by being attached to that place unless your well-being is threatened."

"But…"

"Is your well-being threatened?" he asked nicely.

Ash shifted. "Well, no, but…"

"Then no."

"Hart," Fix scolded him lightly. "Let him speak. And Ash, respect Hart's wariness of that place."

"I get it, but it's not the usual shady shit, I promise. The warehouse is cursed," Ash said, and Hart sucked in a breath. "Cane called me last night because weird things have been going on and after talking to him I agree it's probably a curse. Now I know you don't care about him or his…establishment…"

Hart snorted at the words in the most undignified way. ‘Establishment' was a stretch. It was a cesspit of depravity and the man who owned it was no better.

"Why are you so sure it's cursed?" Fix asked.

"Multiple things have happened in a very short span of time that have nothing to do with his place or the activities going on there. People who aren't supposed to be getting along suddenly acting like best friends, Cane's staff going against his rules. It's not the norm and he's worried."

"But the law doesn't worry him in the slightest?" Hart said. "How curious."

"It does sound like a job for you, Hart," Fix said, and Ash nodded.

"We ruled out Midas, Wren, Black, and myself right away," Ash said. "So far it's all just weird little things that shouldn't have a lasting impact, so I didn't write you off entirely, Fix."

"Yeah, I can see why not." Fix stroked through his beard. "Okay so…I guess we go check it out and see what we can find?"

"That would be the best, yeah," Ash said.

Hart balked. "When did I agree to this?"

"It's a job, Hart." Ash frowned before a devilish smile appeared at the corner of his lips. "I know you're more professional than letting your personal feelings cloud your judgment. Especially when you're supposed to be setting a good example for us all."

Hart scowled, almost feeling the banner he'd set up earlier flap above his head mockingly.

He'd walked himself right into this and he knew it. There would be no getting out now, and not just because of the blasted Set a Good Example Day. He was a professional. He was the best at what he did, and he'd be cursed if his personal dislike of a client impacted his work.

"Fine," he said. "One inappropriate word from him, though, and I am going to walk out and request a formal refusal of a case."

They all gasped, eyes wide and mouths agape. Black snored louder in his chair.

"You wouldn't," Ash said.

Hart tilted his chin up in defiance. "I would. And I will. Should it prove itself to be mine, I will work this case as diligently as I do all of them, but I will not be made to feel uncomfortable by that man or his business."

"Okay, no need to get fussy about it," Fix said. "How about we go check the place out together, and we'll see what's happening. If it's mine, I'll drive you right back before working on it so you don't have to stick around."

Hart stared at him for a moment, contemplating taking his own car. He wanted to have an escape plan readily available to him, but he didn't get precious minutes alone with Fix often, and if they went separately he might miss out on being able to talk to him. The nagging feeling of anxiety in his chest at the sight of Fix this morning settled it for him. He needed to make sure he was okay.

"Fine," he said finally, standing up and bunching his napkin in his fist.

"So I guess nobody cares what I have to say?" Taylor spoke up. "That's fine. Not like I have a job to do or anything. Just go on your merry way."

"We're really sorry, Taylor," Fix said, looking as guilty as someone who had told Wren he couldn't keep an animal he'd found beside a road. Not that anyone had ever done that. There was a reason there was a jaguar stalking around their family home.

"Are the cases you have urgent?" Hart asked.

She huffed, nose pointed up in the air as she pulled up the information on her tablet. "They're both very close to the borders of another team's territory. I'll reach out to their handler and see if they can take over."

"You're not our handler," Ash said, and Hart appreciated how she ignored him completely.

"Thank you," Hart said. "That would be lovely."

"That's me," she said, sugary-sweet as she flipped her hair. "Lovely."

"Sure it is," Ash said with a huff, then wilted under her sharp glare as she walked out.

Hart followed Fix toward the exit just as Ash kicked Black's desk chair, knocking him over.

"I'm not asleep!" Black jumped up, looking bewildered as he realized he was alone in the room with Ash. "Where is everyone?"

"Kidnapped by aliens." Ash popped a sucker into his mouth.

"You're such a dick," Black threw back, and then their voices faded as Hart gripped Fix's shoulders and pushed him down the hallway.

"They can sort it out themselves. I left them pamphlets and stickers," he said as they walked out of the building and toward Fix's pickup truck.

It was dark blue and polished to perfection, reflecting whatever sunshine had managed to break through the clogged-up air in Slatehollow. Fix kept it in pristine condition at all times (there had been many a shirtless washing session) seemingly magically repelling the constant flurry of dust and smoke in the air.

Hart sank into the passenger seat, putting his seat belt on and fussing with organizing the glove box, waiting until Fix was out of the parking lot and focused on the road to start the conversation that had been lingering in his mind.

"So, how have you been?" Hart finished placing the air fresheners in a pleasing rotation.

"Didn't we cover this?" Fix asked with a smile. "Not like you to forget."

"Humor me," Hart said, twisting his body to face him.

Fix threw him a side-eye before shrugging, large shoulders barely having enough room despite the large cab. "I finished the umbrella case finally. So other than that, I can't complain."

"No, you wouldn't." Hart sighed. "You know, when you take care of yourself, you're a better person for others."

He ignored the hypocrisy of those words, pushing the feeling down where he kept everything else locked up tightly. Smoothing over the edges to make sure they were pristine and unnoticeable.

"Thank you, Hart," Fix said. "I don't know why you're telling me that though."

"Because you look like you haven't slept in days. I know you don't like me prying, and I'm not doing it to agitate or annoy you. I'm just worried."

"There's no need to be worried, Hart. I promise I'm perfectly okay."

"But?"

Fix hummed, taking a sharp left turn before sighing.

"Wren's case has been going on for a really long time, and his occasional visits to the house just make it more obvious how tired he is," Fix said finally, and Hart nodded. "I'm worried it's all too much for him."

"You talk to him every day though. You know he's safe."

"I know. But he forgets to eat and doesn't sleep right and lets people walk all over him if it means saving the animals."

Another problem to solve.

"Do we know if Midas is anywhere near him?"

"I don't know." Fix frowned. "Taylor said he took a case in the middle of the night, but not where it is."

Hart pulled out his phone and fired off a text, waiting for a reply to come. Shockingly, Midas sent one back right away.

"Midas is close to where Wren is," Hart said, typing a reply. "He'll drive over to check up on him and make sure he's eating and sleeping okay."

"And…"

"And that nobody is messing with him." Hart smiled. "I know. Now promise me you'll sleep tonight?"

"Black…"

"Is an adult who can manage his own sleep schedule," Hart said. "But if it helps, I'll unplug his router so he's bored into sleeping."

He'd rather Fix get some rest. Hart could handle the lack of sleep.

"He'll just come out to pester someone else," Fix said, but there was a relieved little smile on his face, and the crease between his brows had eased up a bit, which settled the aching feeling of wrongness in Hart's chest.

"You're probably right about that," Hart said as Fix pulled into a large parking lot next to a gigantic warehouse.

It was just as drab as everything else in the industrial circle of Slatehollow—shades of gray and rust wherever you turned. Hart had been so distracted he'd almost completely forgotten just where they were headed to.

Now he was faced with it, his heart began to race, fingers shaking in a familiar way.

Fix turned the truck off and hopped out, unaware of his turmoil and leaving Hart inside to collect his thoughts. Hart was grateful for it. He needed a second to get himself in order and make sure he was as professional as he could be.

He drummed his trembling fingers on his knees, taking deep breaths in through his nose and releasing them through his lips. He counted to fifty, then backward to zero, trying to steady himself. He closed his eyes, picturing all the new ties and pocket squares he had ordered to be made, hoping they'd be delivered soon so he could enjoy adding them to his wardrobe.

Happy thoughts.

Positive thoughts.

Calm thoughts.

Nothing that was edged in smoke or grime. Nothing that made his heart feel like it would break the walls of his chest. Nothing that felt like it was worming its fingers underneath his skin…

"I don't bite, you know."

Hart snapped his eyes open at that deep, rumbling voice, whipping his head to the side.

He found a vision he wasn't ready for yet.

A half-shaved, tattooed head decorated with more metal than had been used to create the truck Hart was sitting in. The dark brown strands were slicked back off his face, covering some of the artwork toward the crown of his head. There were piercings in his eyebrows, the bridge of the nose, his septum, lips, and chin. They were everywhere. The earlobes were stretched out with small black disks, and Hart couldn't even begin to tell where one tattoo ended and the other started.

Cane.

Leaning against the window dressed in a black tank top and jeans, with one muscled arm braced across the top. He was smirking at Hart, his dark eyes almost pitch black in color, looking like they knew all his secrets. Hart swallowed, refusing to get sucked into those black holes and consumed.

Cane knew nothing about him.

Hart grabbed the door handle and opened the door, satisfied with how Cane hopped back to avoid being hit by the door. Hart stepped out, smoothing his suit once he was upright again.

Fix was standing a distance away, looking apologetic and sheepish.

"Is disrespect of personal space a part of this curse?" Hart asked, trying to keep his voice even.

He watched as Cane stretched to his full height, just slightly taller than Hart, but broader, sturdier, firmer than Hart in every way. He was pure power. A magnetizing presence.

"Just part of my charm," Cane drawled, extending his large, scarred hand toward Hart. "Hart. Always a pleasure."

Hart stared at the hand, the need to always be proper fighting with the need to avoid touch at all costs. His hands were still shaking, and the smoke he could smell on Cane was making it worse. It always lingered around him like a cloud.

Cane took the choice away from him by shrugging and putting his hands in his pockets, turning toward the warehouse.

"Okay," he said, and Hart wanted to bristle as much as he wanted to thank him for not making him do something he wasn't sure he wanted to do. "Should we go inside?"

"That would be the best," Fix said. "Let me just grab our bags."

Cane waited for them closer to the rusted roller shutter door behind him, standing with his arms crossed, his eyes fixed on Hart. Hart did his best to ignore the predatory stare as he took his bag from Fix and double-checked that he had everything. It was procrastination at its finest. He was meticulous with his packing.

Eventually he had no more excuses, and he approached Cane for him to lead them into the warehouse.

Fix fell into step with Hart, nudging his shoulder and lifting his eyebrows in question.

Hart just shook his head and focused on the back of Cane's head. He could do this. He absolutely could do this.