The police station smelled like disinfectant and old paper.
Mira sat rigid in the chair, hands clasped tightly in her lap as the officer flipped through her file. Every scrape of paper felt loud. Every second stretched too long. Eli sat beside her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his arm without touching it.
She focused on that warmth.
It reminded her that she was not alone.
“So this isn’t the first time,” the officer said, looking up.
“No,” Mira replied, voice steady despite the tremor in her chest. “It’s been happening for months. Maybe longer.”
The officer nodded slowly. “Appearances without contact are difficult to prosecute. But the message—” he tapped the page “—changes things.”
I see you.
Three words.
Three words that had dragged her back into every nightmare
