I looked at the cameras, then at the crowd of people waiting for a response.

I held my daughter’s hand firmly in mine.

“The law has done its job,” I said.

“My daughter is going home.”

We walked down the steps, past the flashing lights and the shouting voices.

We got into the waiting transport.

The door closed, shutting out the noise of the city.

As the vehicle pulled away from the curb, I looked out the window at the skyline of Charlotte.

The Prescott name would no longer hold power here.

I turned to Emily, who was looking out her own window.

A small, genuine smile appeared on her face.

The uniform on my shoulders felt lighter than it had in a long time.

We were going home.