The night air was crisp as Dylan and I left the precinct. Each step away from the station was a step away from the chaos that had threatened to engulf our lives. I guided him toward the car, his silence heavy with the unshed weight of the night’s events. The streetlights cast long shadows, mirroring the lingering tension between us.
“Dad,” Dylan finally spoke, his voice soft and raw, “what if they don’t believe us?”
I stopped, turning to face him. The bruises on his face were stark under the artificial light. “They will,” I assured him, with a conviction that I hoped would bring him some peace. “We have the truth on our side. And now, we have the system working for us, not against us.”
