Morning in Greyford didn't arrive so much as it hovered.
Vince stood at the kitchen sink with a mug he'd already forgotten to drink from, watching fog thin out along the fence line. It moved slowly, like it had time. Like nothing was chasing it away.
In the city, mornings announced themselves. Engines. Voices. Someone always angry about something. Here, the quiet felt deliberate.
He left the mug where it was and stepped outside.
The bakery door stuck when he pulled it open. Rose Hill was already behind the counter, hair pinned back unevenly, one sleeve rolled higher than the other. She was wiping the same spot she always wiped, even though it never looked dirty.
"Mornin'," she said.
"Is it?" Vince asked.
She gave him a look. "Depends who you ask."
She poured coffee without waiting. He noticed she didn't slide the cup toward him this time. Just set it down and went back to rearranging pastries that didn't need rearranging.
"You're up early," she said.
"I didn't sleep."
"That's how it starts."
He waited for her to explain. She didn't.
A couple sat by the window, heads bent close. When Vince glanced their way, the man looked up too quickly, then back down like he'd been caught reading something private.
Rose leaned closer, lowering her voice. "You still looking into old things?"
"Somebody has to," Vince said.
She nodded, then shook her head like she'd changed her mind mid-thought. "Just remember - Greyford's good at remembering what matters."
"What matters to who?" Vince asked.
Rose smiled thinly. "Exactly."
The clinic smelled like disinfectant and something sweet underneath it, maybe soap. Claire was at the desk, sorting papers into piles that didn't look official.
"You're early," she said.
"Or late," Vince replied.
She studied him for a moment. "You look tired."
"Everyone keeps saying that."
"Because it's true."
He leaned against the counter. "Anyone been asking about Tommy?"
Claire didn't answer right away. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then stopped halfway like she'd thought better of it.
"Marilyn was here yesterday," she said. "Again."
"Did she say anything new?"
"No." Claire exhaled. "She never does. Just asks if someone called."
"And?"
"No one ever has."
Vince nodded. He'd expected that.
"You shouldn't carry this alone," Claire said.
He smiled, but it didn't reach very far. "That's kind of the job."
Outside, the street felt narrower than it had an hour earlier.
Harold Penn's garage door was open, radio humming low. Harold was bent over an engine, cursing softly at something Vince couldn't see.
"You stalking mechanics now?" Harold said without looking up.
"Only the honest ones," Vince replied.
Harold snorted. "You're in the wrong place."
Vince leaned against a workbench. "Tommy used to come around here."
"Lot of kids did."
"Not anymore."
Harold wiped his hands. "Kids grow up."
"Some of them don't," Vince said.
That earned him a look. Not angry. Just tired.
"Town's changed," Harold said.
"When?" Vince asked.
Harold shrugged. "Feels like it always was."
Near the old school, lights flickered in a second-floor classroom. Vince stopped longer than he meant to. Caleb stood inside, erasing a chalkboard already wiped clean.
Caleb noticed him watching and came out, closing the door carefully behind him.
"Evening," Caleb said.
"Morning," Vince replied.
Caleb smiled, but it was the kind that didn't ask for anything back. "Long day?"
"They're starting to blur," Vince said.
Caleb nodded. "That happens here."
"Kids used to stay late," Vince said.
"They shouldn't have," Caleb replied.
That was it. No explanation. No follow-up.
Back at the station, Mercer was waiting.
"You're covering a lot of ground," the chief said.
"Just walking," Vince replied.
Mercer sighed. "People are talking."
"They always are."
"About you."
Vince paused. "About what?"
Mercer hesitated. Just a fraction. "About motives."
Vince smiled. "That's new."
Later, alone again, Vince sat at the table with his notes spread out badly. Overlapping. Corners bent. Nothing lined up neatly.
Rose Hill. Watching.
Harold Penn. Pausing.
Claire. Carrying too much.
Caleb. Cleaning what didn't need cleaning.
Marilyn. Waiting for a call that wouldn't come.
And Tommy. Still missing. Still present.
Outside, a car slowed near the house. Didn't stop. Just slowed.
Vince didn't move until it passed.
Greyford wasn't loud. It didn't threaten. It didn't warn.
It just kept going.
And somehow, that felt worse.