The police station smells like burnt coffee and industrial cleaner. I've been here for three hours, going over everything again and again. Detective Reeves is patient, but my voice is hoarse and my hands won't stop shaking.
Zeke waits in the lobby. They wouldn't let him sit with me during the statement, but I can feel him out there, solid and steady, like gravity keeping me tethered.
"Just a few more questions," Detective Reeves says, and I nod, even though I'm so tired I could cry.
When we're finally done, when I've signed all the papers and answered all the questions, Zeke is on his feet the moment I walk out. He doesn't ask how it went. He just pulls me into his arms and holds me while I shake.
"Let's get you home," he murmurs.
Mom is waiting when we get there, her face drawn with
