The woman gave Vivian a small, almost sympathetic tilt of her head and stepped aside.
Vivian closed her fist around the photograph, nails biting into paper.
They shoved her forward.
The van door yawned open—and inside, a small girl curled in an oversized gray sweatshirt.
Vivian’s breath cracked in her chest.
“Mara.”
The child wavered for half a heartbeat… then launched straight into Vivian’s arms. Vivian folded her in instinctively, feeling the shivers rattle through the tiny body.
“We found her during the sweep,” the agent said, voice neutral. “End of the pier. Small storage shack. Half-frozen, but unharmed.”
Vivian’s heart clenched. They found her. Not because Vivian had betrayed her location—because the entire operation had swallowed the pier whole.
“She hasn’t said much,” the agent added, “but she clung to your name.”
Mara’s small fingers fisted in Vivian’s shirt. Vivian pressed her cheek to the girl’s damp curls, warmth cracking under her ribs—painful, fierce, impossible to hide.
An agent prodded her forward. “Durand, inside. Transport’s leaving.”
Vivian and Mara were strapped in the back row; the door slammed shut. The motor rumbled to life.
She counted Mara’s breaths to keep from unraveling.Three seconds inhale. Four seconds exhale. Keep her calm. Keep her safe.
Outside the tinted windows, the dock receded. Rain carved the city into melting shadows.
The radio crackled. “Unit Three, rerouting—gas leak on Twelfth. Street closures in effect.”
The driver muttered, “Great. Detour.”
The van turned down narrower streets. Fewer lights. Fewer witnesses. Vivian’s pulse tightened. That wasn’t coincidence.
The maintenance worker flagging them forward at a closed gate walked too clean a line, moved too decisively. His reflective vest gleamed wetly as he leaned up to the driver’s window.
“Ruptured line—we gotta divert you?—”
His hand dropped to the rear latch.
Vivian’s instincts detonated.
She scooped Mara up, coiled, and threw her full weight into the unlocking door?—
The latch gave.
She spilled out into frigid air, boots slamming pavement.
“Stop her!” someone yelled.
A shot cracked the night—but not at her. The maintenance worker had stepped into the line of fire, shouting slurred instructions about the gas line, blocking their aim.
Vivian ran.
Rain blinded her. Her lungs burned. Mara clung to her neck, a trembling weight she held like breath itself.
She didn’t stop until the pier opened onto a service alley—and a black SUV idled like a shadow with headlights off.
