Behind her, two uniformed officers pushed past, their boots splashing loudly in the puddles.

Beatrice froze, her hands raised halfway, her chest heaving under her dirt-stained coat.

“Drop the wood, Beatrice,” Detective Holt said, her voice calm but cold as ice.

Beatrice looked at the officers, then at me, and finally at Chloe.

The wooden beam slipped from her fingers, thudding softly against the damp earth.

“Get her up,” Detective Holt ordered the officers.

The officers grabbed Beatrice’s arms, pulling them behind her back.

The sharp, metallic click of handcuffs echoed in the small, ruined office.

Beatrice did not scream or fight anymore.

She simply stared at me with a cold, dead expression as they led her away.

I walked over to Chloe and knelt beside her, using a small pocket knife Detective Holt handed me to cut the zip ties around her wrists.

Chloe fell forward into my arms, weeping uncontrollably.

“I am sorry, Audrey,” she sobbed. “I was so scared. I did not want any of this to happen.”

“It is over now, Chloe,” I whispered, rubbing her back. “You are safe.”