The Shape of Stillness

The air in Belize carried the scent of salt and damp earth, the quiet hum of the town settling into the late afternoon. Jessica liked this hour best—when the heat lost its sharp edge, and the world stretched out like an exhale.

She leaned against the doorframe of Black Orchid Investigations, sipping from a bottle of water, watching the slow rhythm of the street. Vendors packing up, music drifting from an open window, the sky shifting from blue to deep indigo.

Inside, Olivia was at her desk, half-buried in case files. A fan hummed lazily overhead, stirring the thick air, doing little to push away the heat. Jessica could hear the quiet scratch of a pen against paper, the occasional tap of a keyboard. It was a small office with two desks, a coffee maker that rattled when it brewed, and a bookshelf filled with old case files and dog-eared novels. They had built this space together, a fragile attempt at stability. She told herself she was happy here. Most days, it almost felt true.

Jessica stepped inside, tossing her empty bottle into the bin as she grabbed her beat-up leather jacket from the back of her chair. Olivia glanced up, pushing her glasses to the top of her head.

“Another cheating spouse?” Olivia guessed, nodding toward the folder tucked under Jessica’s arm.

“Something like that.”

“And?”

Jessica shrugged. “Nothing. She buys groceries. Takes a walk. Drinks coffee alone. Either the guy’s an idiot, or she’s better at hiding it than most.”

Olivia smirked. “Some people just want to be lied to.”

Jessica sat on the edge of her desk, stretching out her legs. The office smelled like strong coffee and old paper. The kind of place that felt lived-in, settled. She had spent so long running, but here, things had a rhythm. And yet, she felt the weight of something unspoken.

“You’re restless,” Olivia observed.

Jessica exhaled, rubbing the back of her neck. “I’m fine.”

Olivia snorted. “You say that every time you’re about to do something reckless.”

Jessica gave her a dry look but didn’t argue. Olivia wasn’t wrong.

A knock at the door saved her from having to continue the conversation. Jessica turned to see Sam leaning against the frame, arms crossed, an easy smirk playing at his lips. The police chief looked the same as always, calm, steady, like the weight of the world never quite touched him.

“Look what the tide dragged in,” Olivia quipped. “To what do we owe the honor?”

“Saw your light on,” Sam said, stepping inside. “Figured I’d check if you two were still up to no good.”

“Always,” Olivia replied.

Jessica shook her head, grabbing her keys from the desk. “I was heading out anyway.”

Sam arched a brow. “Dinner?”

Jessica hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Why not.”

Normalcy. That’s what she wanted, wasn’t it?

* * *

Later that night, Jessica sat on the balcony of her apartment, whiskey in hand, staring out at the quiet stretch of sea. The waves rolled in slow and steady, pulling at the shore, the same way they had the night before. And the night before that.

Dinner with Sam had been easy, familiar even. He talked about police work and small-town problems. She let herself sink into the rhythm of it, let herself believe that this was her life now.

And yet. She exhaled softly. Pressing the rim of the glass to her lips, she told herself the past was done with her. She almost believed it.