“You don’t know that,” the woman snapped, already dialing 911. “You’re trying to break in.”
Derek inhaled slowly, forcing patience into his tone. “Look at the frost. He’s been in there a while.”
Through the glass, Caleb’s head tilted slightly, his face pale beneath the dim interior light reflecting from the lot.
Red and blue lights appeared faster than expected, cutting across the asphalt in streaks. A Brookfield police cruiser pulled in sharply, tires crunching lightly over patches of frost. Officer Hannah Whitaker stepped out, posture alert but controlled.
“Sir, step away from the vehicle and keep your hands where I can see them.”
Derek complied instantly, moving backward without argument.
“He’s been inside too long,” Derek said calmly. “Not waking up.”
Whitaker approached the Camry, shining her flashlight through the rear window. Her expression shifted as the beam illuminated Caleb’s face. She tried the handle. Locked.
“Dispatch, I need EMS. Minor possibly hypothermic.”
The crowd fell quiet. The narrative began to fracture.
