The sun threw long beams through the windshield, catching the sweat along his temples. He pulled his cap lower as if hiding from it. Or maybe from me. When I stayed quiet, waiting, he finally turned his head. His eyes met mine for a second, then dropped. The look said it all: he didn't agree, but he didn't know how to stand in the way of Claudia's commands.
"She wants us to enforce," he muttered, his voice catching on the word. His hand tightened on the wheel until the knuckles blanched. "But I signed up to patrol, not police kids."
The admission slipped out fast, like it had been pressing against his teeth for days. He grimaced as soon as it left him, shifting his body as if he could tuck the words back inside.
I studied him: the way his knee bounced against the floorboard, the way his other hand tugged at the seam of his uniform sleeve. He wasn't a man drunk on authority. He was a man carrying orders he didn't believe in, orders that turned his badge into something dirty. That conflict lived in every nervous twitch, every averted glance.
"You've got options," I said, careful, not pushing too hard.
Thomas laughed once, hollow, a sound that barely left his throat. "Options? You think these folks care about my options?" He gestured loosely toward the clubhouse, then dropped his hand quick, like the movement itself was dangerous. His whole body leaned back as if distance could keep him safe.
But his eyes betrayed him again. They flicked to Emma, who had just come down the sidewalk with her towel draped over her shoulder. She didn't see him, but he saw her. And in that moment, his jaw clenched so hard I thought I heard the grind of his teeth. His gaze followed her, and guilt bled across his face in the smallest ways: the pinch of his brow, the way his shoulders sagged an inch lower, the sigh he couldn't quite swallow. That was the tell. He didn't want to be Claudia's enforcer. He just didn't know how to step out of line without breaking himself.
I let the silence stretch, the kind that made truth louder than words. Then I gave him a nod, one professional to another—the kind of nod that says, "I see you." His hand loosened on the wheel, just a fraction.
As I walked away, I could feel his eyes on my back, heavy and conflicted. He hadn't chosen a side yet, but the battle was already raging inside him. And when the time came, I knew which way his conscience would break.
Thomas's silence stayed with me long after I walked away from his patrol car. His body had said more than his mouth ever would, and it told me what I needed to know: Claudia was pulling strings even her own hired men didn't want to touch.