The clock above the reception desk in the Briar Glen Police Department read 9:46 p.m. when the front door opened with a soft chime.
Deputy Evan Hollis glanced up from the stack of paperwork spread across his desk, already expecting another late visitor with a simple question, a minor complaint, or a problem that could have waited until morning. Most people who came in at that hour usually needed directions or a bit of reassurance before heading back out into the night.
But the words he was ready to say never made it past his lips.
A little girl stood in the doorway.
She looked no older than seven. Thin and tired, she seemed even smaller than the doorframe around her. Dust clung to her skin, her bare feet were darkened with grime, and her clothes were worn down from what looked like days of use. Her tangled hair fell around a face marked by tears, and both of her hands were locked tightly around a brown paper grocery bag pressed against her chest as if it were the most important thing in the world.