As I watch him slip out of the room, I can’t help but admire how naturally he handles children.

“You have any kids?” I ask.

He looks me up and down and grins. “No, I don’t. Haven’t even been married yet,” he says, slinging the towel over his shoulder.

“Well, if you ever decide to have any, I think you’d make a great father,” I say, gesturing him toward the stairs.

He goes first, glancing back at me. “I appreciate it, but I don’t know if I would be,” he murmurs, rubbing at his jaw where stubble is starting to grow.

As he moves down a few steps, facing me again, he continues. “This world is filled with corruption… I’d be scared to put them in danger, especially with my line of work.” His hand drifts up to his neck, rubbing it unconsciously.

I notice that whenever the subject gets rough, he rubs at himself—his neck, jaw, or shoulders.

“I understand… do you find yourself in danger a lot?” I ask.

He reaches the bottom of the stairs and glances down at my socks-covered feet, holding out his hand. “Don’t want you slipping on these wooden stairs,” he says. I take his hand, and as we descend, he answers my question quietly.

“I guess so… as any normal cop turned detective,” he mutters, never meeting my eyes.

“You normally answer straightforwardly,” I say, “whenever we don’t speak about your job. I’m sorry if I’m prying.”

We reach the bottom, and I point toward a door. “My room’s over there, but we should have clothes in my brother’s room—you can get changed there.”

We begin walking toward the room. As he reaches my brother’s old room, he stops and sighs, running a hand along the doorframe.

“I… I find it hard to talk about,” he begins, his voice low. “Someone like me—being Asian—sometimes it’s difficult dealing with racism in the department. There aren’t a lot of us, and when I got there, I wanted to do right by my community. But as I got deeper into the job, they expected me to be something I wasn’t raised to be. So when it came to choosing between following orders or doing what I thought was right, I chose what I believed was best.”

I watch his hand trace the frame of the door and take a step closer. His hair falls into his eyes, hiding them, yet I can feel the weight of being an outsider radiating from him.

“You know, when I first entered med school, there weren’t many Black doctors. And a lot of the time, people would say things like, ‘This isn’t where nurses should be.’ I could’ve given up, done something else to avoid being harassed like I was… but I wasn’t raised that way.”

As I finish speaking, he looks at me and takes a step closer, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips that he’s clearly trying to suppress.

“I guess we have something in common, don’t we, Claire?” he says, leaning against the wall as he steps closer.

“Yes,” I reply softly, trying to comfort him. “It’s important we don’t give up—when we do, that’s when they win.”

He searches my eyes for something, and I hold his gaze, silently hoping he finds it.

The grin finally spreads fully across his face, and he nods, taking a step back. “You’re brave, Claire. Not many people I know—inside the force or out—could experience what you did and still be fine hours later,” he says, running a hand through his hair, the motion casual yet revealing a hint of vulnerability.

I nod my head. “I was scared, and I still am—that won’t change. But like I said, I won’t hide. I won’t give up. Those men—or anyone else—they won’t beat me down.”

I push both hands into my hair and stare at him. “Go change, and I’ll drive you home,” I say.

He nods. “I respect you… and maybe I shouldn’t give up,” he replies, walking into the room.

I watch him go and can’t help but wonder what he means by “giving up.” I whisper it to myself, low enough that he can’t hear me.