Chapter 189 of All the Colors of the Dark begins with Police Chief Saint seated at her desk at the Monta Clare Police Department when a familiar call comes in. Mildred, the principal’s secretary, reaches out with urgency in her voice regarding a school-related incident. As Saint listens, Deputy Michaels—a sharp and earnest young officer—passes her an update, mirroring the youthful energy she once had. Her connection with Mildred is a warm one, built on small gestures like bringing over baked goods, a quiet bridge between duty and humanity. These simple rituals hint at Saint’s enduring effort to stay grounded in a town where everyone remembers each other’s past. Though her position commands authority, she walks a fine line between being respected and being judged for choices made long ago, especially those tied to Jimmy Walters.

Stepping into the bright hush of early spring, Saint takes in the rhythm of Monta Clare. She watches Mitch Evans putting the finishing touches on a freshly painted sign, a symbol of seasonal renewal clashing with stubborn marks of vandalism still left behind. In years past, Saint had handed scrub brushes to teenage troublemakers, ensuring they cleaned the graffiti with their own hands—a firm but fair lesson that earned her quiet respect in town. Her approach to justice blends strength with empathy, though she remains painfully aware that whispers still follow her name, tangled in stories of loss and scandal. As she heads to Monta Clare High School, the familiar weight of responsibility returns, heavier with each step toward another confrontation she didn’t ask for, but cannot avoid.

Inside the school office, Saint listens as Charlotte, now facing suspension, tells her side of the story with a clenched jaw and sharp eyes. The teen explains she lashed out at Noah Arnold-Smith after he crossed a boundary—grabbing her inappropriately in a hallway, prompting her instinctive reaction. While administrators see a girl with a temper, Saint recognizes something far deeper: a young woman who feels unheard, unsafe, and already tired of justifying her right to draw lines. As Saint processes Charlotte’s anger, her own memories flash—awkward boys pushing limits, the discomfort, the helplessness she once buried. She doesn’t excuse the violence, but she doesn’t ignore the reason behind it either. Empathy tempers her judgment, even as procedure demands a suspension.

Charlotte’s frustration spills into talk of her grandmother, whose disappointment she dreads, and her longing to escape Monta Clare altogether. She talks about Las Vegas like it’s a promised land where reinvention is still possible. In her voice, there’s a yearning to break free from legacy, from the weight of expectations stitched into her identity by people who don’t fully see her. Saint understands that feeling too well. Her own adolescence was shaped by defiance, by a desire to carve a life outside the shadow of her mistakes. Now, she watches Charlotte tread a similar path—brash, wounded, hopeful.

Later that day, Saint joins Charlotte at Misty’s grave, a place heavy with memory and silence. The cemetery is still, the air thick with the unspoken pain that threads through both their lives. Charlotte stares down at the grave, arms crossed, eyes clouded, trying to express a feeling that doesn’t quite fit into words. She confesses that she’s tired of being misunderstood, of always carrying the blame for being too loud, too emotional, too much. Saint listens, her own grief for Misty mirrored in Charlotte’s disillusionment. Neither of them says everything, but their silence speaks of the fragile bond slowly growing between them.

The final moments of the chapter are steeped in reflection. Saint walks Charlotte back through town, her mind circling the idea of legacy—what we inherit and what we pass on. Charlotte’s fierce independence is a mirror to Saint’s own youth, but it also serves as a warning. The choices made now will shape more than just a future; they will determine the kind of women they become. Saint isn’t just a cop in Monta Clare. She’s a thread in its generational story, trying to mend what’s torn without unraveling everything else in the process.

This chapter presents a quiet but powerful meditation on protection, identity, and the limits of control. It’s not just about a suspended teen or a town with long memories—it’s about the enduring fight to believe in redemption when everyone seems to remember only the mistakes. Through Saint and Charlotte, we witness the slow, often painful work of reclaiming one’s place in the world, not just as survivors of trauma, but as women determined to break the cycles that nearly broke them.