Chapter 8
The county sheriff's office smelled of old paper, damp wool, and stale vending-machine coffee. Elena sat at the metal laminate table in the back room, a paper cup of lukewarm water warming between her palms. Across from her, a female paramedic named Sarah methodically checked her blood pressure, wrapping the black velcro cuff around her arm with gentle efficiency. "Your pulse is high, Elena, but the baby's heartbeat is steady," Sarah said, offering a small, reassuring smile that reached her eyes. Elena nodded, taking a slow sip of the water. Through the open door of the breakroom, she could see Julian being led past in handcuffs, his head bowed, the black t-shirt now looking crumpled and ordinary under the harsh fluorescent lights. Margaret was seated on a folding chair near the booking desk, her dark blue dress looking entirely out of place among the filing cabinets and stacked boxes of evidence. The nightmare had shifted into bureaucracy, but the air felt breathable for the first time in months.
