Cole said nothing.
"I saw the vest."
She glanced toward him.
"The motorcycle. Tattoos. Club patch."
"Most people do."
"I categorized you before I heard you."
Cole looked toward the grass.
Welden continued.
"That was wrong."
"You were investigating a missing kid. Being skeptical is your job."
"Listening is also my job."
She paused.
"And I almost didn't."
Cole considered that.
"Harper wouldn't talk to you."
"No."
"You eventually let her talk to me."
"Eventually."
Cole almost smiled.
Welden did too.
"How is she?"
"Harper?"
"Yeah."
Welden's smile became real.
"She's unbelievable."
"How?"
"We interviewed her formally with a child psychologist."
Cole waited.
"She gave timelines. Vehicle details. Clothing descriptions. Partial plate information. She remembered which direction the van turned Monday."
Cole shook his head.
"Seven years old."
"She also remembered the exact place she saw it again."
"The farm."
"And how she got there."
Welden looked toward him.
"She had basically mapped half the route in her head."
Cole smiled faintly.
"She sees things."
"That's the problem."
Welden's smile disappeared.
"She sees things, but nobody listened."
Cole remained quiet.
"We reviewed Tuesday's neighborhood canvass."
Welden exhaled.
"We identified the officer."
"What happened?"
"He remembered her."
Cole looked sharply toward her.
"He remembered telling her to go inside."
Welden's jaw tightened.
"He was dealing with multiple residents at the time. People were shouting questions. Reporters had just arrived. He thought Harper was trying to ask about the search."
Cole looked away.
"Doesn't make it right."
"No."
"Could've found Lily Tuesday."
"Maybe."
Cole glanced at her.
Welden continued.
"I keep replaying it."
"You can't change it."
"No."
She looked across the park.
"But I can change what happens next time."
That mattered to Cole.
Not guilt.
Change.
A group of children ran past.
Cole saw blond braids.
Harper.
She was wearing the same pink jacket.
Beside her was Lily.
Brown hair.
Thin.
Still somewhat pale.
But running.
Alive.
The two girls raced toward a large oak tree.
Harper reached it first.
Lily slapped the trunk a second later.
Both collapsed into laughter.
Cole watched them.
Something opened inside his chest.
For years, grief had felt like a room with every window sealed.
No fresh air.
No sound.
No movement.
Watching those two girls laugh felt like somebody had cracked one window open.
The pain remained.