Chapter 3Reeve’s Creek had a tiny little building for a police department. Mason was half convinced the closet in his little rented studio was bigger than the tiny office and tinier holding cell. Every time he unlocked the door to the station, he was always surprised to see the size of the place wasn’t his imagination. And bland. The only splashes of color in the entire building were shiny steel bars and dark wooden desk. Even the old Mac computer was white, though at least that was from the mid-2000s. Walls were covered in a paint that reminded Mason of oatmeal and the linoleum floor was a gray that might’ve been from years of spotty cleaning or the actual color. It was hard to tell.
What stood out was the lack of any kind of atmosphere. Like there wasn’t a soul to the place at all. The
