Ophelia Welhaven had never in her life felt so grateful for money.
The moment the lawyer returned to the station two hours later, everything changed.
A few hushed conversations, a discreet envelope passed from hand to hand, and suddenly the world began bending itself back into a shape she recognized.
Priviledge.
No more holding cell.
No more sharing space with criminals.
No more filthy benches and flickering fluorescent lights.
Instead, she was escorted to a small private room at the far end of the precinct. Which, technically was still detention, but very different from the cage she had been thrown into earlier.
The room had a narrow bed with clean sheets, a private sink, and most importantly a door that locked from the outside but kept everyone else out.
Ophelia sat stiffly on the edge of the mattress and exhaled for the first time that night.
It was not freedom.
But it was survival.
