Paul checked the station security camera timestamp, the incoming call log, and the missing-child notice that had reached dispatch exactly seven minutes earlier. Richard had called in reporting that both of his daughters had “wandered off from the yard after refusing their prescribed vitamins.”
But Nora had just told him that Violet was never even told what she was swallowing.
The narrative had already split in two.
Paul printed the pharmacy record and placed it beside the sealed syringe envelope. Then he added a single line to his official incident log: CHILDREN REQUESTED PROTECTION PRIOR TO PARENT ARRIVAL.
Outside, tires hissed across the wet asphalt.
The ambulance was still two blocks away, its siren faint in the distance.
A dark luxury SUV pulled into the station lot first.
Nora saw the vehicle through the glass doors and froze instantly. Violet made a small, choked sound from the floor.
Paul walked straight to the front doors, turned the heavy brass deadbolt, and lowered the interior security latch. Then he guided both girls behind the reinforced front counter, keeping them completely hidden from the parking lot.
