The snow had been falling for so long that the whole world outside our windows looked erased.

The next twenty minutes were a blur of flashing lights, heavy boots, and urgent voices.

Two state troopers burst through the ruined front door, weapons drawn, before immediately lowering them when they saw Arthur standing with his service weapon pointed at a kneeling suspect.

“Vance! Good to see you, Captain,” the lead trooper, a burly officer named Miller whom Arthur had trained years ago, said briskly. “We’ve got the perimeter secured. EMTs are bringing the backboard in.”

“Secure him,” Arthur nodded toward Thomas, keeping his eyes on him until Officer Miller and his partner hauled Thomas up by his arms, slapping cold steel handcuffs around his wrists with a sharp click.

“You can’t do this!” Thomas shouted as they dragged him toward the shattered doorway. “She attacked me! It was mutual combat! This is kidnapping!”

“Save it for the judge, counselor,” Miller muttered, shoving him out into the snow toward the waiting police transport.

Moments later, two paramedics rushed through the door with a stretcher, medical bags, and heavy blankets.

“Clara? Can you hear me?” a paramedic knelt beside me, cutting away my jeans around my right knee with heavy shears.

“I’m here,” I gasped, the sharp sting of the scissors barely registering over the deep ache in my leg.

“You’ve got a severe compound fracture of the tibia and fibula, plus multiple deep contusions,” the paramedic said professionally, sliding a stabilizing brace around my leg. “We need to get you onto the board and into the snowcat right now. It’s going to hurt, Clara. I’m sorry.”

As they lifted me onto the firm surface, a wave of dizziness made the ceiling spin.

“Wait,” I grabbed Arthur’s sleeve as he leaned over me. “Poppy. We forgot Poppy.”

“I didn't forget her, sweetheart,” Arthur said softly, a gentle smile touching his weathered face.

He turned toward the hallway and raised his voice.

“All clear, little scout. You can come out now.”

A tiny, hesitant movement caught my eye from the shadows of the hallway.

Poppy stepped out into the light.

She was wrapped in a thick, oversized wool blanket that Arthur must have grabbed from his truck. In one hand, she clutched Mr. Flops tightly against her chest; the other hand held onto the hem of Arthur’s coat. Her eyes were wide, taking in the flashing red lights outside, the broken front door, and the paramedics surrounding my stretcher.

When she saw me on the board, her lower lip quivered.

“Mommy?” she whispered, stepping closer.

“I’m right here, baby,” I choked out, tears finally breaking free and spilling down my cheeks. “I’m okay. I’m right here.”

Poppy dropped her stuffed rabbit—for the first time all night—and ran across the room, careful to avoid the glass, throwing her small arms around my neck with fierce, protective love.