“I will call the district attorney right now to initiate the emergency warrant.”

Gillian watched us, her chest heaving as she sat on a wooden crate.

“Does this mean I don’t go to prison?” she asked, her voice small.

“It means you might get a plea deal,” Ana said, her tone professional and unyielding.

“But you will have to testify against your father and mother.”

Gillian nodded quickly. “I’ll do it. I’ll tell them everything they want to know.”

Ana walked toward the entrance of the warehouse to make the call to the prosecutor.

I stood in the dusty air, staring at the floor.

The weight of the recording hung heavily in the room.

For months, they had tried to make me feel like I was losing my mind.

They had tried to convince the world that my injuries were my own fault.

Now, the truth was sitting in Ana’s hands on a gold phone.

A few minutes later, Ana returned, her face grim.

She was staring at her own phone, her brow furrowed.

“Alana,” Ana said, her voice dropping to a quiet whisper.