At 5:12 a.m., I finally sat alone in my office.
The building was quiet except for distant footsteps and the faint sound of equipment.
I had changed into a spare dark suit provided by my assistant, but the orange gown remained folded inside a protective garment bag near the door.
There were marks across my wrists.
My shoulder hurt when I moved it.
And every time I closed my eyes, I could feel Devlin's hand pressing against my neck.
I stared toward the window.
Then my telephone rang.
Zora.
I answered immediately.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
There was silence.
Then she said, “Mom?”
I smiled tiredly.
“Hi.”
Her voice sounded strange.
“Are you okay?”
I stopped.
For a moment, I considered giving her the easy answer.
Of course.
I'm fine.
Just a long night.
But Zora was seventeen.
She knew when I was hiding something.
And she deserved more honesty than I sometimes gave her.
“I had a difficult night.”
Her breathing changed.
“What happened?”
I took a breath.
“There was an incident during a traffic stop. I'm safe now, but I was detained and hurt.”
The silence lasted several seconds.
Then she whispered, “What?”
“I've been checked by medical personnel.”
“Were you arrested?”
I closed my eyes.
“I was handcuffed. The situation has been resolved, and the incident is being investigated.”
“Mom.”
Her voice broke.
“Why didn't you call me?”
I swallowed.
“I couldn't during the stop. Afterward, I had an urgent work situation.”
“You had work?”
I stared toward the desk.
The anger in her voice cut through my exhaustion.
“Zora—”
“You got hurt, and you went to work?”
I didn't answer immediately.
She continued.
“Grandma saw something online about a federal convoy on Route 213. She called me because she thought it might be related to your job.”
I felt cold.
The incident had already begun spreading.
Not necessarily with accurate details.
But enough that my mother and daughter were frightened.
“I'm sorry,” I whispered.
Zora's voice shook.
“I don't care about the convoy, Mom. I care that somebody hurt you.”
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Then I said quietly, “I know.”
She took a breath.
“Are you coming home?”
I looked toward the unfinished reports on my desk.
Then toward the photograph of Zora at twelve, standing proudly beside a science fair project.