Aiden settled into one of the two simple chairs at the small kitchen table in the break room. The space was humble, plain granite countertop crowded with coffee machines and a softly humming fridge. Cabinets overhead held an assortment of snacks, none that interested him, but their presence added a touch of homeliness to the otherwise utilitarian room.
He pulled out his backpack and flipped open his laptop, fingers tapping to boot it up. A small stack of homework assignments waited, already piled up on his first day. Some teachers seemed eager to overload him, but Aiden didn't mind. Maybe if he powered through quickly, he could stay under the radar.
He plugged in his headphones, letting the familiar rhythms drown out the gentle hum and occasional crackle of the police station. Music blurred out the silence and sharpened his focus as he navigated his old assignments, hoping to find something useful to smooth over this new start.
After about thirty minutes, the door creaked open and a man stepped in. He was dressed in a dark uniform, the faint sheen of rain still clinging to his black hair. His olive skin flushed slightly, as if from the chill outside, or maybe the fatigue of a long patrol.
The man poured himself a cup of coffee from the station's machine and glanced over at Aiden with a curious but guarded expression before pulling up a chair and settling in.
"Oh hey, you must be Steve's boy, right?" the man said, lifting his coffee in a casual greeting.
Aiden looked up and nodded. "Yes, sir. Aiden White." He extended his hand, which was met with a firm shake. The man pulled out his headphones and gave a brief smile.
"I'm Charlie Swan. Chief of the Forks Police Department. Nice to meet you."
There was an easy authority in his voice, but also something gentle under the surface.
"So, where are you from, Aiden?" Chief Swan asked, leaning forward, genuine interest softening his tone.
"Chicago, sir," Aiden answered, the words feeling heavy, thick with memories. The warmth of the coffee didn't quite thaw the cold weight settling in his chest.
Chief Swan nodded thoughtfully. "The Cubs haven't played here in a while," he joked, shifting the conversation. "You play any sports?"
"I used to play basketball," Aiden said quietly, his voice barely above the hum of the fridge. "But... things happened."
The pause hung in the air, heavy with unspoken stories.
"Well, if you ever want to play again, the basketball team would love to have you," the chief said with a half-smile. "We haven't won a game in ages. But that's town talk for you," he chuckled.
Before Aiden could respond, the intercom buzzed sharply.
"Chief Charlie, it's time to pick up Isabella from the Aeroporto," Mrs. Blossom's cheerful voice filtered through the speakers.
The chief sighed and rose from his chair. "Well, gotta go. Nice meeting you, Aiden. Hope your stay here is a good one."
Before stepping out, he added with a serious look, "I understand what you're going through, coming from Chicago, but please—don't bring up what happened over there. The folks here don't need to be scared. And we sure don't want to find a dead body and have to talk to Steve about it, okay?"
"I'm not here to cause trouble," Aiden said quietly, meeting the chief's gaze steadily. "I was sent here. I just want to lay low and do my time."
"Alright, kid. Don't get into any trouble. And don't stay out too late. There are dangerous things out there," Chief Swan warned, then offered a reassuring smile, thinking of his daughter finally coming home.
After the chief left, the quiet returned. Aiden finished his homework, scrolling through websites about Forks as the rain tapped softly on the window. He watched a few videos on the town, the lush forests and misty streets a stark contrast to his old life. Slowly, his eyelids grew heavy, and he allowed himself a brief nap.
A sharp buzz from the intercom snapped him awake.
"Aiden… Aiden, please come to the front desk, mijo."
Groggy but alert, he packed his things and brushed the rain from his jacket, stepping out of the break room.
As he walked through the station, the low murmur of voices reached his ears. Near the receptionist's desk, Mrs. Blossom spoke softly to a young girl, her tone gentle but firm.
[Few Minute Later]
The quiet hum of the police station was punctuated by the sharp, heated voices drifting from behind the front desk. Mrs. Blossom, her short light brown hair flecked with honey and white strands, stood firmly, hands planted on the counter. Her emerald-green eyes flashed with determination as she faced the young girl before her, a girl no more than fifteen, with long brown hair streaked with golden highlights that caught the light even under the harsh fluorescent bulbs.
"No, mija, no vas a ir sola a casa," Mrs. Blossom insisted, her voice steady but firm.
("No, sweetheart, you are not going home alone.")
The girl's voice trembled slightly, frustration barely contained. "Pero, Abuela, es solo un poco más abajo de la calle. No pasa nada."
("But, Grandma, it's just a little ways down the street. Nothing will happen.")
Mrs. Blossom shook her head, her lips tightening. "¡Eso no es asunto de 'nada pasará!' No sabes lo que hay ahí fuera en la noche."
("That's not the point of 'nothing will happen!' You don't know what's out there at night.")
The girl's eyes flashed defiantly. "Siempre dices eso, pero nunca me dejas hacer nada. No soy una niña."
("You always say that, but you never let me do anything. I'm not a child.")
Mrs. Blossom's expression softened for a moment, but the resolve didn't waver. "No es cuestión de edad, es cuestión de seguridad. No me importa cuánto quieras probar que eres grande."
("It's not about age, it's about safety. I don't care how much you want to prove you're grown.")
The girl took a step back, crossing her arms, her voice rising with a mix of anger and desperation. "¿Y qué pasa con lo que tú quieres? ¿Acaso solo piensas en ti?"
("And what about what you want? Do you only think about yourself?")
Mrs. Blossom 's jaw tightened, the tension filling the small room. "Mija, no te estoy haciendo esto para molestar, sino porque te quiero. Y te amo demasiado para perderte."
("Sweetheart, I'm not doing this to annoy you, but because I love you. I love you too much to lose you.")
A long pause stretched between them, the girl's defiance fading into a flicker of doubt.
"But I'm not a baby," she whispered.
"No, you're not," Mrs. Blossom said gently, stepping forward to place a hand on the girl's shoulder. "Pero esta noche, vas a quedarte aquí hasta que te recojan."
("But tonight, you're staying here until someone picks you up.")
The girl looked down, lips pressed tight. "¿Cuánto tiempo más tendré que aguantar esto?"
("How much longer do I have to put up with this?")
Mrs. Blossom sighed, her eyes warm but firm. "Hasta que estés segura. Hasta que pueda dormir tranquila, sabiendo que estás a salvo."
("Until you're safe. Until I can sleep peacefully, knowing you're safe.")
The girl nodded reluctantly, a mixture of frustration and reluctant acceptance clouding her features.
Mrs. Blossom softened further, brushing a loose strand of hair behind the girl's ear. "Ven, te haré un chocolate caliente. Y luego, puedes sentarte conmigo hasta que alguien venga."
("Come, I'll make you some hot chocolate. Then you can sit with me until he comes.")
The girl let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, offering a small, tired smile.
Mrs. Blossom smiled back, her resolve settling into a protective warmth as the two walked toward the desk.
Aiden stepped quietly into the station's small common area, drawn by the low murmur of voices. As he rounded the corner near the front desk, he spotted Mrs. Blossom speaking firmly with a young girl, long brown hair catching the light, features strikingly similar to the older woman's. The girl's eyes flicked nervously toward the door.
Mrs. Blossom caught sight of Aiden and turned, her face lighting up with recognition. "¡Ay, Aiden! Just in time," she said warmly,
The honeyed tones of her Spanish rolling off her tongue. The young girl glanced over, eyes widening slightly as she registered Aiden's presence.
"Aiden"
"Angela," he said back,
Mrs. Blossom, nodding toward the girl. "Si, Esta es mi nieta."
("Yes, This is my granddaughter.")
Angela's gaze shifted between Mrs. Blossom and Aiden, a hint of surprise flickering in her expression. "You know each other?" she asked quietly.
"Yes, claro. But what's this?" Mrs. Blossom's eyes twinkled as she looked at the two of them standing there, taking a moment.
"You two look like a perfect pair." she said, as she slapped repeatedly.
Mrs. Blossom moved quickly, her voice sharp and urgent as she pressed Aiden and Angela toward the door.
"Quiero que la lleves a casa esta noche, Aiden—por si acaso. Manténla a salvo, ¿me entiendes?"
("I want you to take her home tonight, just in case. Keep her safe, understand me?")
Angela's brow furrowed, her eyes flickering between her grandmother and Aiden. "Wait… Abuela, he doesn't even understand what you're saying?" she whispered, doubt threading her tone.
Aiden's lips curled into a sly smirk as he crossed his arms casually. "I speak Spanish," he said smoothly, his voice low but confident, the surprise clear in Angela's eyes.
Angela's eyes widened. "Wait, seriously? Since when?"
"Since a long time ago," he replied with a shrug. "Good thing, huh?"
Mrs. Blossom laughed softly, her warm eyes crinkling. "Bien, bien. Entonces, vámonos antes que oscurezca." ("Good, good. Then let's get going before it gets dark.")
Mrs. Blossom pushed them out the door and locked it, waiting for them to move down the street.
As they stepped out into the cool evening air, the drizzle had lightened to a mist. Angela slipped her hand under Aiden's arm, the two walking side by side with an easy rhythm.
"I guess you're stuck with me now," Angela said with a shy smile.
"Wouldn't have it any other way," Aiden replied, feeling a subtle ease settle over him as they disappeared down the quiet street, leaving the hum of the police station behind.