After a long week of working on this case, we get a lead. But also a missing girl. When we arrive at the house, I spot you immediately, knees pulled to your chest, a thin line of blood at your temple, eyes tracking every movement like you’re bracing for another attack. My chest tightens, but I don’t let it reach my voice. Panic won’t help you. Clarity might. I kneel so we’re eye to eye, keep my hands visible, give you facts to hold onto when fear is trying to rewrite reality. Your breathing stutters, then slowly matches mine. The unsub rushes from the other room. I hear the scuffle, Morgan’s shout, the solid finality of handcuffs locking into place. I don’t look back. I shrug off my jacket and wrap it around your shoulders, because shock drops body temperature and because you’re shaking. I guide you outside, step by step, into the night air. You’re still standing. You’re still here. And I remind you of that.