Mrs. Holloway, the twins shouted in unison. Reed was already on his phone calling 911. We need an ambulance. Possible heart attack or stroke.
The officers paused, uncertain. But Chief Mercer barked, "Get the suspect in the car now." They led Ayanna out through the crowd of shocked reporters, cameras flashing like strobe lights. Inside, Mrs. Holloway lay pale and still while Reed performed chest compressions.
Amara knelt beside her foster mother, holding her hand, tears streaming down her face. Paramedics arrived within minutes, quickly assessing Mrs. Holloway before loading her onto a stretcher. Strets induced cardiac event, one muttered, attaching monitors. BP through the roof, through the window, Amara watched the police carrying her sister disappear around the corner.
The ambulance screamed away in the opposite direction with Mrs. Holloway. She stood alone in the chaos of the ransacked living room, surrounded by spilled coffee and scattered legal papers. Hours later, darkness fell over the county jail. In a stark holding cell, Ayana sat on a thin metal bench, her back against the concrete wall.
The cell was eerily quiet except for distant footsteps and the hum of fluorescent lights. She hadn't moved or spoken since they locked her in. Her eyes remained fixed on the blank wall opposite her, but her mind raced through calculations and consequences. They'd finally done it. Used the system itself as a weapon, turned her self-defense into a crime.
She could almost hear Coach Sorrel's voice weaving his false witness statement. Could picture Cody's smirk as he signed his name to lies. The wall stared back at her. gray and unyielding, while somewhere in the darkness, the machinery of injustice ground forward. Night settled over Memorial Hospital like a heavy blanket, the fluorescent lights casting harsh shadows in the empty hallway. Amara sat alone in a worn plastic chair, her hands trembling despite her attempts to keep them still.
The antiseptic smell burned her nose, and every beep from the nearby nurses station made her flinch. Mrs. Holloway lay in the room behind her, hooked up to monitors that tracked her vital signs with steady pulses. The doctors had explained it earlier. A mild stroke brought on by severe stress.
She's stable, they'd said, but needs complete rest. Amara's phone buzzed again. Another message from Reed. DA's office pushing hard. Need to discuss options.
She pressed her palms against her eyes, fighting exhaustion. The last 24 hours felt like a nightmare she couldn't wake up from. Ayana in jail. Mrs. Holloway in the hospital.
And now, Miss Washington. A gentle voice made her look up. Two women in business attire stood before her, their expressions practiced and professional. One held a folder stamped with the Department of Child Services logo. I'm Sandra Mills, the taller one said.
And this is my colleague Lisa Porter. We're here to discuss your current situation. Amara straightened her grandfather's training kicking in automatically. Observe, analyze, prepare. Given recent events, Mills continued, settling into a chair across from her.
We have serious concerns about placement stability. With Mrs. Holloway's medical condition and your sister's legal situation, we're not going anywhere. Amara said quietly. Porter leaned forward, her voice honey sweet.
Sweetie, we understand this is difficult, but with the circumstances, my sister was defending herself, Amara cut in. And Mrs. Holloway will recover. The court system may take months to resolve your sister's case, Mills explained. And in situations like this, we often need to consider separate placements.
No. The word came out sharp as a blade. Miss Washington, you're not separating us. Amara's voice remained low, but carried an edge that made both women pause. Our lawyer will handle this.
As if summoned, Reed appeared at the end of the hallway. His tie loosened and jacket wrinkled. He'd been working nonstop since the arrest. "Ladies," he nodded to the social workers, then turned to Amara. "We need to talk now.
The social workers retreated, promising to return later. "Reed waited until they were out of earshot before speaking." "Wade Mercer is pushing to try Ayana as an adult," he said without preamble. "He's the DA and Cody's uncle. They're painting the locker room incident as premeditated assault."
Amara's hands clenched. She was defending herself. I know that. But they've got Coach Sell claiming he witnessed her attack Cody unprovoked. They're using the field fight video to establish a pattern of violence.
A nurse walked past, pushing a cart of medications. Amara waited until the squeaking wheels faded before responding. What about the harassment? The fire? All of it?
Reed's face tightened. Police closed the arson investigation. No evidence, they say. And the school board is backing Principal Reeves's handling of the situation. They're claiming they responded appropriately to all complaints.
Dawn was breaking when Amara received the text from the school administration. Immediate expulsion. Effective immediately. Security would escort her to clear out her locker. The hallways were nearly empty when she arrived, but words spread fast.
Students gathered at a distance, phones recording. Some jeered, others watched silently. A few, mostly black students she'd never spoken to, raised fists in solidarity. Coach Sorell stood in his office doorway as she passed, his face twisted in a smirk. Animals belong in cages.