"There," Siobhàn stood and shoved her phone back into its pocket. "Happy now?"
Jacques stepped inside first, his boots crossing the threshold into the lobby. The place felt hollow—emptier than it had any right to be.
He tried not to let it get to him, but it was difficult. The weight of memories pressed against him as he scanned the familiar layout. His desk had been just over there, by the corner window. The bulletin board where they'd pinned case updates and reminders now hung askew on one nail, half of it missing. He remembered late nights here, half-asleep at his station while colleagues like Davis and Ortiz joked about grabbing one more coffee before sunrise. And Chief Moreau always pacing in front of the main board with that focused scowl.
"This was your place?" Morrigan asked as she stepped in behind him.
Jacques didn't look back at her. "Used to be," he said, heading toward the staircase at the back of the room.
