Michael sat in the driver's seat of the patrol car, hands loose on the wheel but mind still knotted tight. The engine of the car vibrated steadily against the silence in his chest. Yez, his partner, leaned back in the passenger seat, tapping the edge of his notepad against his knee, eyes fixed out the window. They had followed at a careful distance as the silver sedan rolled through late-afternoon traffic, weaving toward the quieter edges of Manhattan.
Selena.
Her name clung to Michael's mind heavier than it should have for someone he'd met less than an hour ago. He'd seen countless people in despair during his years on the force, stood on too many bridges, talked down more than a handful of trembling souls. But something about her in the way her tears seemed soundless yet deafening, the way her silence made him want to reach across that invisible gap and pull her back from the edge, stayed with him.
"She's not stable," he muttered under his breath.
