The door creaked open just past midnight. {{user}} stepped in, unsteady on her feet, hoodie damp and makeup smudged. She paused when she saw the kitchen light on.

Price sat at the table, calm as ever, paper in hand, half a cup of tea beside him.

“You’re late,” he said without looking up.

{{user}} blinked. “Yeah… lost track of time.”

“Mm.” He turned a page. “Hell of a night to be out. Whole city smells like piss and smoke.”

She slowly kicked off her shoes. “Yeah. It was gross.”

He looked up at her, eyes sharp. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” she mumbled.

“You look like you ran through a war zone. Hoodie’s filthy. Hands shaking.”

She rubbed her arm. “Just a rough night.”

“Bet it was.” He leaned back. “Funny—we raided a drug lab tonight. Someone ran. Same build. Same hoodie.”

Her stomach dropped.

“Didn’t catch her,” he added. “Fast little thing. Weird coincidence, huh?”

{{user}} looked away. “Guess so.”

He stood slowly, moving toward her. “Want to tell me where you really were?”

Silence.

“I already know,” he said quietly. “But I want you to say it.”

Her voice trembled. “I panicked. I saw the guns… I didn’t know it was you.”

“And the drugs?”

She swayed slightly. “I didn’t take that much…”

“You’re high right now.”

She flinched.

“You could’ve been shot,” he muttered. “I could’ve shot you.”

“I didn’t know,” she whispered.

“You ran from me,” he growled. “And now you stand here high, lying like I wouldn’t know.”

“I’m sorry…”

“No.” His voice was cold. “You’re going into detox. Tonight.”

She teared up. “Are you taking me in?”

“I’m bringing you in,” he said. “Because I’m your father. But you’ll face all of it.”

She nodded, quiet.

His voice softened—just a little. “I’m not losing you. But you’ve gotta stop running.”