I couldn’t help myself: “He’s a little young for you, don’t you think?”

“Meee-oww,” the sergeant drawled, clearly amused by my cattiness. “Word on the street is that Greg’s been chasing you for years. He finally get to cross the finish line, Danielle?”

I wouldn’t even dignify that with a response. Mostly because I didn’t want to think of my morning with Greg. I had been rejecting him for years. Only to finally go to his place, and have him reject me.

“Look,” I said impatiently, “I don’t have relationships. I work with kids, and I leave the personal crap alone. End of story.”

“I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean?”

D.D. tilted her head, regarding me curiously. “Two families connected to this unit have been murdered, almost exactly twenty-five years after your family was shot to death. And last night, the child you were working most closely with was hanged. You still don’t think that has anything to do with you?”

I felt my heart spike, then the blood drain from my face. “But … My past is over. My family’s gone. Who’s left to hurt me?”

“Good question,” the sergeant mused. “Who’s left to hurt you?”

I didn’t have an answer for her. This couldn’t be about me. I didn’t have the gun this time, I wanted to blurt out. I swear, I didn’t have the gun.

“I need to review a report,” I mumbled, then I bolted from the common area. I couldn’t be in front of the police anymore. I didn’t want them to see the horror on my face. I didn’t want them to misinterpret my regret.

Fifteen minutes later, staff members began to assemble in the common area. It was nearly eleven-thirty, everyone running late. Given earlier events, that was hardly a surprise. The unit still felt wonky. I couldn’t remember a time when we’d had so many acute episodes back-to-back. I couldn’t remember a time when all of us felt as jittery as the kids.

I remained in Admin, watching from the observation window. The cops had finally disappeared. I could join the MCs at the table, but suddenly I felt self-conscious. The sergeant had put thoughts in my head, like maybe this was all my fault, like maybe I was to blame for Lucy’s death.

I was waiting for Greg, I realized. I was waiting for his presence to ground me.

When five more minutes passed without him appearing, I went looking for him.

I wandered down the hall, past children sleeping in various nooks and crannies, past doors of darkened rooms and past doors of hundred-watt brilliance. I didn’t see Greg, but then I heard his unmistakable baritone coming from the last room on the right.