As we walked out of the station, the night air felt like a refreshing balm against the heated tension of the precinct. My mind was still racing, replaying every detail of what just transpired, but at least for the moment, Dylan was safe. I glanced over at him; his eyes were weary and filled with a mix of relief and lingering fear. I knew this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
The drive home was silent, punctuated only by the hum of the engine and the occasional sniffle from Dylan. I wanted to ask him about what happened, to dig deeper into the events that led to this moment, but I knew he needed space to process it. Instead, I focused on what I could control: ensuring his safety and planning the next steps to protect him.
When we got home, Dylan went straight to his room. I followed, standing at the doorway as he flopped onto his bed, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up with him. “Do you want to talk about it?” I asked gently.
