A small girl sat on the floor, clutching a torn blanket.
Her tangled blond hair hung over frightened eyes.
Her knees were bruised—some fresh, others fading.
“Hey there,” Grant said softly, kneeling down. “We’re here to help you.”
The girl looked up cautiously, unsure if she could trust them.
“Chloe?” Bennett asked, noticing the name written on a notebook nearby.
She nodded weakly.
In the next room, a man in his late thirties sat slumped on a sofa with a bottle of whiskey in his hand.
His clothes were stained and his eyes unfocused.
“What are you doing in my house?” he slurred.
Bennett ignored him and turned back to Chloe.
“Honey, can you show us where the snake is?”
The girl tightened her grip on the blanket.
“Dad’s snake…” she whispered.
Grant scanned the room.
There were no cages, no tanks, no signs of any reptile.
“Where is it now?” he asked gently.
Chloe hesitated before answering.
“It’s not a real snake,” she said quietly. “That’s just what Daddy calls it.”
The meaning hit both officers instantly.
Bennett felt his stomach tighten as he exchanged a glance with Grant.
Within seconds Grant stood and walked toward the man on the sofa.