The sirens stop at the edge of the drive.
Not abruptly. Not dramatically. They wind down like something being put carefully back in its box, volume lowering until the sound becomes background instead of threat. The rain keeps falling, steady and indifferent, as two patrol cars ease into place. Tires crunch softly against wet gravel. Blue lights wash over the house, the trees, the slick sheen of the driveway. Over us.
It feels invasive. Like a spotlight I never asked for.
Ellis stands a few steps away, hands still raised, posture perfect. Victim-ready. Her coat is damp now, the fabric darkened at the shoulders and hem. Rain beads in her hair, catching light when she shifts. She looks small in the space she’s chosen to occupy. Fragile. Manageable.
I feel anything but small.
My chest is
