You were just about to pour yourself a cup of cold tea when your phone rang, the shrill tone slicing through the quiet of your living room like a blade. You didn’t recognize the number, but you answered anyway — something deep down told you to.

“Hello?”

There was a pause, then a shaky breath. “It’s Lottie’s mom.” Her voice cracked under the weight of relief and exhaustion. “They found her. They found all the girls. They’re flying them back now — they’ll be landing in an hour.”

You didn’t even register hanging up. The coffee mug clattered to the floor, forgotten. You grabbed your keys with trembling hands and bolted out the door, barely remembering to lock it behind you. The drive to the airport was a blur of red lights and white lines, your mind spinning faster than the wheels beneath you.

When you pulled up to the terminal, the place was already chaos — flashing cameras, clusters of reporters barking questions, families clutching each other, scanning the arriving passengers with frantic eyes. You pushed through them all, elbowing past microphones and tearful reunions, heart hammering in your throat.

And then you saw her.

Lottie was standing near the edge of the crowd, half-hidden behind her parents, who were speaking to her in hushed, desperate tones. But she didn’t look at them — her hood was pulled low over her head, her sleeves tugged down over her hands. She was staring at the floor, fingers twisting and untwisting the fabric of her sleeve, shoulders hunched like she wanted to disappear.

You didn’t stop to think. Didn’t call her name. You just ran.

When you reached her, you practically crashed into her, wrapping your arms around her so tight you almost knocked the breath out of both of you. For a second, she froze — stiff as stone — but then, slowly, hesitantly, her arms came up around you. Her fingers clutched at the back of your shirt, and her head buried into your shoulder.

And then she didn’t let go. Her grip tightened, and you felt the shuddering breath she let out against your neck — the sound of all the words she couldn’t say.

You held her tighter. You weren’t letting go either.

“Oh, Char” you whispered in her shoulder voice cracking.

To which she responded with a small whimper arms tightening around you if that was even possible.