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You see, Emily’s father and I were separated, and my brother Daniel often babysat when I worked late hospital shifts. I saw the way the officers glanced at each other when I mentioned him.
That night, Daniel was taken in for questioning. His eyes were wide with confusion. “What’s going on? I didn’t do anything!”
For three endless days, my family disintegrated under the weight of that question.
Then Detective Ryan Whitaker appeared at my door holding a sealed evidence bag — Emily’s lavender backpack inside. A dark, unfamiliar stain marked the lower pocket.
He placed it carefully on the table. “Mrs. Lane, the test results came back.” His voice was grave, but his eyes weren’t. They held something else — a kind of restrained relief.
I braced myself for horror.
“Ma’am,” he said slowly, “the suspect isn’t human.”
My breath caught. “What?”
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