From downstairs came the sound of Bill’s voice, the low timbre carrying up the stairwell as he spoke on the phone.She couldn’t make out the words, but the familiar cadence brought a sense of calm.In the chaos of Riley’s life, Bill was the anchor that kept her moored when currents threatened to drag her under.
The case was over.Sarah Mitchell—the woman who had orchestrated three deaths as a demonstration of her own trauma—was in federal custody, her confessions flowing freely now.Riley had visited her briefly that morning, watching as Sarah methodically recounted each murder.There had been no remorse in her voice, only a strange sense of completion, as though she had finally balanced a cosmic ledger that had been skewed against her.
Olga Swinson had survived—traumatized but alive.During her debriefing, she had described the hours of captivity when Sarah had explained her motivation in chilling detail: years spent changing identities, living on the margins of society, watching as the system that had punished her for choosing justice over procedure had continued to operate unchanged.Sarah had drifted between cities and names, gradually generating the elaborate plan that had culminated in yesterday’s standoff.
“Riley?”Bill’s voice called from downstairs.“Meredith just called.He’s got a half-hour gap in his schedule before our meeting if we can get there early.”
“Coming,” she called back, giving her reflection a final, critical assessment in the mirror.The shadows beneath her eyes had lightened somewhat, but tension remained in the fine lines around her mouth.She looked like what she was—a woman carrying too many burdens for too long.
As she descended the stairs, Bill looked up from where he stood just inside the open front door, his jacket already on, keys in hand.His eyes held a question that he didn’t need to ask.
“I’m fine,” she answered anyway.“Just thinking about Sarah.”
“You saved Olga’s life,” Bill reminded her.“That’s what matters.”
“I know.”She didn’t add that for every life saved, those lost still haunted her—Brittany Hall, Rachel Bennett, Patricia Walsh.Women who had found momentary peace through the folding of paper, only to have everything shattered by Sarah Mitchell’s crusade.
“We can’t go until Jilly gets home,” Riley said.“Gabriella has gone to pick her up.”
“She’s here now,” Bill replied.“I was just watching Gabriella park her car.”
The two appeared in the open front door.Gabriela’s expression was warm but knowing—the look of a woman who had witnessed enough of Riley’s professional life to understand the undercurrents.
Jilly’s slender frame had her backpack slung over one shoulder, her dark hair pulled back in a messy ponytail.Riley felt the now-familiar surge of relief that washed over her each time one of her daughters returned safely home—a silent counting of blessings that had become part of her daily ritual since Leo Dillard had made his obsession known.
“Hey,” Jilly said, her eyes moving between Riley and Bill.“You guys headed out now?Gabriela just told me you have a meeting.”
“At Quantico,” Riley confirmed, reaching out to give her daughter a quick hug.“With Chief Meredith.”
“About Leo?”Jilly asked, her voice dropping slightly on the name, as though saying it too loudly might summon him.
Riley nodded, not bothering to shield Jilly from the truth.Their family had long since moved past the pretense that dangerous realities could be kept at bay through silence.“We’re discussing some new strategies to locate him.”
“Good,” Jilly said firmly.There was a hardness in her voice that Riley recognized—the defensive shell of a girl who had learned too young that the world wasn’t safe, who had survived by facing threats head-on.
“You know the drill,” Riley said, “Door locked behind you, security system armed.Don’t answer for anyone you don’t know—”
“—And keep my phone on me at all times,” Jilly finished, the corner of her mouth quirking in a half-smile.“I know.I’ve got this.”
“We may be late for dinner, Gabriela,” Riley said, already anticipating a long session with Meredith as they mapped out the parameters of Leo’s behavior, attempting to predict his next move before he made it.
“Do not worry about dinner,” Gabriela replied with a dismissive wave of her hand.“It will wait.And Jilly and I will be fine.”Her dark eyes held Riley’s for a moment.“We will lock the doors, set the alarm.Go do what you need to do.”
Riley nodded gratefully.“Thank you.”
“You two should get going,” Jilly said, heading for the kitchen.“I’ve got a ton of homework anyway.Just need a snack first.”
Riley watched her daughter’s retreat, noting the casual way Jilly tossed her backpack onto a chair, the studied normalcy of her movements.Despite everything, Jilly was resilient—adapting to the reality of their lives with a strength that both impressed and saddened Riley.No fifteen-year-old should have to live with this level of vigilance, this awareness of being hunted.
Gabrilla followed the girl into the kitchen.“No pastries before dinner.You can get a nice piece of fruit.”
Bill’s hand settled lightly on Riley’s shoulder, a gentle pressure that conveyed understanding without words.
“Okay,” Riley said, gathering her bag from the hall table.
They stepped outside into the waning afternoon light, the air carrying a hint of autumn coolness.Riley scanned the street automatically—a professional habit that had intensified to near-paranoia since Leo’s threats had begun.Nothing seemed out of place.No unfamiliar vehicles, no faces that didn’t belong in their neighborhood.
Yet the feeling of being watched, of being assessed, never quite left her.It had become a constant companion.
