Chapter 52 Wave

Chapter 52 Wave
Detective Harris's POV

The crying didn’t stop, and it only fueled my curiosity.

The more I listened, the more I realized this wasn’t the regular, soft, everyday ordinary crying; it was deep, real, and piercing.

It was the kind of crying that comes from someone who’s been holding it in for too long—someone who's probably at the verge of throwing it all away and giving up at last.

I tightened my grip on my phone as I slowly walked toward the back of the station building.

My shoes made soft sounds against the ground as I approached whoever was hiding behind the fence, and crying this hard.

The crying got louder the closer I got.

Then I slowed my steps as I got really close, my eyes scanning the corners carefully.

“Who’s back there?” I called out calmly, but firmly.

There was no answer… just more crying.

I didn't hesitate any longer, I immediately turned the corner and then I saw him—a young man sitting on the floor, back against the wall, head down, shoulders shaking hard.

His hands were covering his face. Crying like everything inside him just broke.

I frowned slightly. This wasn’t what I expected.

How on earth could a grown ass man like this settle down on the floor and set this hard?

What could've gone wrong with him.

No, this is bad.

What a pity!

He hadn't noticed me yet, so I took the opportunity to take a closer look at him, but I still couldn't recognize him as he had his head covered in-between his knees.

“Who are you—?” I asked softly as I slowly stepped closer to him.

The young man slowly lifted his head, eyes red, nose wet, face full of tears.

The second I saw him clearly, my eyes suddenly widened in shock.

“Blue shirt!” I said in shock.

I recognized him instantly. He was the intern from earlier—the quiet one, the one always running errands.

The minute the boy saw me, he quickly tried to wipe his face clean, pretending he hadn’t just been crying.

I caught the sudden change in his expression—he looked embarrassed, and he couldn’t help it, so he hurriedly turned his head away.

I glanced around once, making sure no one else was watching, then looked back at him. But he was busy hiding, avoiding my gaze entirely.

He tried to sit up straighter, pretending his world hadn’t just fallen apart.

But no matter how much he tried to act fine, his chest kept shaking, and his breathing was uneven.

My expression softened slightly, then I stepped closer and slowly squatted down beside him.

My voice suddenly shifted from its usual commanding, authoritative tone to something far softer than I could have imagined.

“Hey… what’s wrong?” I asked quietly.

The boy didn’t answer. He just kept looking down like a child who'd just lost his money.

I didn't pull away, I moved closer and tried again. “Why are you out here crying? Talk to me.”

The boy shook his head quickly. “I—I’m sorry sir… I’ll go back inside. I’ll continue working. I promise.” His voice was shaky. He seemed scared, like he thought I would shout at him or something.

I frowned. “I didn’t ask you to apologize,” I said calmly.

But the boy was already trying to stand up quickly.

I didn't let him stand up completely before grabbing his arm gently and pulling him back down. “Sit.” My voice suddenly went a little bit high but not completely harsh.

“Tell me what happened,” I asked again, my eyes locked on him, searching for any hint of the truth he was trying to hide.

The boy hesitated again.

Then slowly, his lips started to tremble…he wanted to speak but the tears in his eyes refused to let me talk.

Then suddenly, he broke down even harder than before—tears gushing uncontrollably.

For a split second, I thought he might have lost a very close relative or something.

No man cries this hard without a good reason.

I didn’t try to stop him this time. I simply let him cry it all out, as if stopping him would only cause more pain.

In situations like this, it’s better to just let yourself cry. It’s pent-up feelings—you have to let them out.

He couldn't bring himself to stop, so I shifted closer and placed a hand gently on his shoulder, then I said softly, “Hey…Blue shirt, talk to me,”

He swallowed hard and wiped his tears quickly, then he cleared his throat and started to speak, "They treat me like trash, sir…” he sobbed.

He almost burst into another wave of sobbing, but he swallowed hard while he struggled to hold it in.