Carter stepped out first, hand hovering near his holster. Rain soaked his uniform as he pushed the door open with his foot.
Inside, the smell hit him immediately — alcohol, sweat, something burned. A chair lay overturned in the living room. In the kitchen, a woman stood pressed against the counter, her face pale, eyes wide with terror.
And in front of her stood a man gripping a kitchen knife.
Ryan Anderson.
His arm shook, his breath uneven, rage and desperation tangled together on his face. The knife wasn’t raised — not yet — but it didn’t need to be. The threat was already there.
“Police!” Carter shouted. “Ryan, drop the knife. Now.”
Ryan turned slowly, eyes bloodshot. “She’s trying to leave me,” he said, voice slurred. “She’s taking my daughter.”
Behind him, Sarah Anderson whimpered. Blood trickled from a cut near her eyebrow.
“Ryan,” Carter said, stepping closer, lowering his weapon but not his guard. “Your daughter is outside. She’s scared. This isn’t what you want her to remember.”
For a moment, time seemed to stop.
