The tires crunched over gravel as I pulled into the station parking lot. Fog hung low over McMinnville, thick and clinging like it was trying to smother the whole town. The streetlights still glowed faintly, their beams swallowed by the haze, and the faint rays of sunlight breaking through only made the mist look heavier.
I rubbed my hands together as I stepped out of the car. The cold air bit at my skin, and the damp smell of wet pavement and fallen leaves filled the air. The station loomed ahead, its familiar brick outline softened by the fog. Normally, this place felt routine—solid. But today, something was different.
“Get it together, Trevor,” I muttered under my breath, shaking off the strange unease that had settled over me.
Inside, the familiar hum of the station greeted me. Phones ringing, the printer spitting out reports, and the faint sound of chatter over steaming cups of coffee. It was the same as always—predictable, steady.
“Morning, Whitaker!”
I looked over to see Carter reclining in his chair, arms crossed, wearing that smug grin of his.
“Morning, Carter,” I said, heading for the breakroom.
“You’re looking rough. Olivia run you into the ground, or did you just sleep through your alarm?”
I smirked, grabbing a coffee. “Not all of us can nap at our desks, Carter. Some of us actually work for a living.”
“Work? That what you call it?” he shot back, laughing. “Must be nice being the captain’s golden boy.”
I rolled my eyes, taking a sip of coffee. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you,” I called over my shoulder as I headed for my desk.
Carter laughed louder, clearly pleased with himself. He liked to push buttons, but there wasn’t any malice in it. I had barely logged into my computer when Captain Green’s voice rang out across the bullpen.
“Whitaker! In my office.”
The room went quiet. Heads turned in my direction, and a few exchanged curious glances. My stomach tightened, but I kept my expression neutral as I grabbed my coffee and made my way toward her office.
“Ma’am?” I said, stepping inside.
“Close the door and sit,” she instructed, barely glancing up from the file on her desk.
I shut the door behind me and sat, the chair creaking slightly under my weight. Captain Green flipped through the file on her desk, her brow furrowed in thought. After a moment, she looked up, her sharp gaze locking onto mine.
“What I’m about to tell you doesn’t leave this room,” she began, her voice low and deliberate. “You’re about to be briefed on something classified. That means nondisclosure agreements, waivers—the works. Do you understand?”
The word *classified* landed like a gut punch. Small-town cops didn’t deal with anything classified. My mouth was dry as I forced out, “Yes, ma’am.”
She leaned forward, her tone softening slightly but still firm. “I recommended you because I trust you to handle this with professionalism and discretion. Go upstairs, sign the paperwork, and listen carefully. Report back to me when you’re done. Understood?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said again, quieter this time.
She nodded and stood, motioning for me to follow. We walked through the bullpen, and Carter’s familiar grin met me the moment we passed his desk.
“What’d you do, Whitaker? Get caught sleeping on the job?”
“Not now, Carter,” Green snapped, her voice slicing through his teasing. She didn’t even glance at him, and her pace didn’t falter.
Carter’s shocked expression was priceless, but I didn’t have time to enjoy it.
At the end of a hallway I rarely used, Green pushed open the door to a conference room. Inside, two men in dark suits sat waiting, their postures rigid and expressions unreadable.
The air changed as soon as I stepped inside. It felt colder, heavier, like the room itself was holding its breath. These weren’t locals. They had an aura of authority that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
“This is Officer Whitaker,” Green said, her tone clipped.
“Thank you, Captain,” the man on the left replied. His voice was polite but dismissive, his attention already shifting back to me. Green hesitated for a moment, her jaw tightening, before she turned and left the room without another word.
“Officer Whitaker,” the man on the left began, sliding a thick stack of paperwork across the table. “These are nondisclosure agreements, liability waivers, and other necessary documents. Read them carefully and sign.”
I picked up the pen, my fingers brushing the edge of the stack. The legal jargon blurred as I skimmed through the dense pages, but certain phrases jumped out: *classified operation*, *national security*, *personal liability*.
“What exactly am I signing up for?” I asked, looking up at the two men.
The man on the right leaned forward slightly, his sharp gaze locking onto mine. “What you’re signing up for, Officer Whitaker, is far beyond your usual jurisdiction. Details will be provided once the documents are signed. Until then, it’s need-to-know.”
My pulse quickened. Whatever this was, it wasn’t small. Swallowing my nerves, I signed each page, the weight of what I was committing to settling heavier with every stroke of the pen.
“Good,” the first man said as he gathered the paperwork and tucked it into a briefcase. His tone was calm, but there was a sharp edge to it. “Here’s the situation: early this morning, an unidentified object crashed outside of town. Preliminary analysis suggests it’s not of terrestrial origin.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Not terrestrial? You’re saying it’s… extraterrestrial?”
The second man cut in sharply. “We’re not at liberty to confirm specifics. Your job is to secure the perimeter and ensure no unauthorized individuals approach the site. Discretion is critical. Do you understand?”
I nodded, though my head spun. “Yes, sir.”
The first man handed me a folder, its weight cold and oddly heavy in my hands. “Head to the site immediately. You’ll receive additional guidance upon arrival.”
As I flipped it open, my eyes landed on the coordinates and the brief description of my role: basic perimeter security. Simple enough on paper, but the word *extraterrestrial* clung to my thoughts, making it anything but straightforward.
“Anything else I need to know?” I asked cautiously, my voice tighter than I intended.
The second man’s face remained impassive. “Do your job. Secure the perimeter. Report any activity to on-site command immediately. That’s all.”
The reply hit like a slammed door. It was clear they weren’t offering more, and pressing the issue wouldn’t end well.
I nodded. “Understood.”
The first man offered a tight smile—if you could even call it that. “Good. You’re dismissed, Officer Whitaker. Remember: absolute discretion.”
I turned to leave but paused when the second man’s voice stopped me.
“Officer,” he said, his tone cool and deliberate. “Focus. This isn’t just another call.”
His words sent a chill down my spine. They didn’t feel like advice—they felt like a warning.
“Yes, sir,” I replied, my voice steady despite the knot in my chest.
As I stepped back into the hallway, the tension followed me like a shadow. Whatever I’d just been roped into, it was bigger than I’d imagined.
Back in the bullpen, the usual bustle seemed insignificant. Carter noticed me immediately, his sharp eyes locking onto the folder in my hand.
“What’s that about?” he called, smirking.
“Nothing you’d find interesting,” I replied, trying to sound casual.
He leaned back in his chair, his grin widening. “Sure, Whitaker. You’ve got that ‘I’m not allowed to talk about it’ face. What’s the deal? Top-secret cow-tipping mission?”
Stopping mid-step, I gave him a deadpan look. “Drop it, Carter.”
“Oh, come on,” he pressed. “You can’t just walk past me with a mystery folder and expect me not to ask.”
I stared at him, debating my response. Finally, I leaned closer, lowering my voice. “You really want to know?”
“Obviously.”
“They sent me upstairs to investigate who’s been stealing your donuts.”
His laugh boomed across the bullpen. “Fair enough, Whitaker. Go handle your donut crisis.”
Shaking my head, I walked away. Carter’s teasing loosened the knot in my chest, if only for a moment.
As I passed Captain Green’s office, I caught her watching me through the half-open door. She didn’t nod or smile—just stared for a second before returning to her call.
That uneasy feeling I’d been pushing down all morning came rushing back. Whatever this was, she knew more than she was letting on.
In the locker room, I suited up, the familiar motions of strapping on my belt and badge doing little to settle my nerves. The folder sat on the bench like a ticking clock, reminding me this was far from routine.
Sliding into the driver’s seat of my car, I tossed the folder onto the passenger seat and started the engine. The GPS coordinates glowed on my screen, leading me into the unknown. “Get moving, Whitaker,” I muttered, gripping the wheel. Shifting into drive, I left the station behind.
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