Hale didn’t respond immediately. He was focused on the girl. This wasn’t ordinary fear. It was something deeper — raw panic.
“Sophie,” he said gently but firmly, “did someone hurt you?”
She swallowed hard. “Not me. My mom.” Her voice trembled. “My little brother can’t wake her up.”
That was all Hale needed to hear.
He stood and spoke into his radio.
“Dispatch, Unit Twelve. Possible medical emergency. Child reports unconscious adult at residence. We’re responding.”
Brooks opened the back door of the cruiser, but Sophie stepped back quickly.
“No! I’ll show you,” she insisted. “It’s right there.”
She pointed down a narrow side street lined with dark duplexes and chain-link fences.
Then she ran.
Hale and Brooks exchanged a quick glance before hurrying after her.
Despite the slick pavement, the girl raced ahead, cutting through an alley behind a closed laundromat and across a patch of uneven grass toward a row of aging rental houses. Porch lights flickered weakly in the mist. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked.
Sophie never slowed.
She wiped tears from her face with one hand while pointing forward with the other, as if stopping might somehow make things worse.