“What did he say to her?”
The woman scrubbed back. We watched again. Todd’s mouth was moving. Mia breaking.
I didn’t need audio.
I knew the shape of the words.
Your sister.
Hurt.
Fire.
He told her I was hurt.
He told her I was dying.
And Mia—who had already lost our mother, who lived every day afraid of losing me too—didn’t stop to question it.
She ran.
Toward the only family she thought she had left.
He used me to take her.
I don't remember leaving the office. Don't remember crossing the parking lot or starting the engine. One moment I was staring at that grainy footage, watching my sister disappear through a door with the man who used to hit our mother, and the next I was tearing out of the school lot, running every red light, the speedometer climbing past numbers I'd never hit before.
I called 911 first. My voice came out steady, calm—the voice of a first responder reporting an emergency. Training taking over again.
“Abduction in progress. My sister, Mia Santos, twelve years old. The man who took her is Todd Harris. White male, mid-forties, approximately five ten, one eighty. He's driving a blue Ford F-150, license plate Charlie-Alpha-seven-three-nine-two-one. He has an active restraining order and an ankle monitor. He took her from West Valley Elementary approximately eight minutes ago.”
I'd memorized those plates years ago. Just in case. Because I'd always known, somewhere deep in my bones, that this day might come.
The dispatcher confirmed. Sheriff Daniels was mobilizing units. State patrol notified. An Amber Alert was being issued.
“Ma'am, we need you to stay where you are and let law enforcement?—”
I hung up.
Todd had an eight-minute head start. But I knew him. Knew the way he thought, the places he'd go. He wouldn't stay on main roads where cameras could track him. He'd go somewhere remote. Somewhere he could control.
The old logging roads off Route 7. Miles of nothing but trees and dirt and silence.
I floored it.
My phone rang. Liam. I answered without slowing down.
“Riley? I just got your messages. I was in the back pasture?—”
“Todd took Mia.” The words came out flat. Factual. Like I was reporting a structure fire, not the end of my world. “He told her I was hurt. Used me to make her go with him.”
“Where are you?” I heard keys grabbing, a door slamming, boots on gravel. He was already running.
“Heading toward Route 7. The logging roads. He'll go somewhere isolated.”
“I'm coming.” No hesitation. No questions.
Then the line went dead.
