PART 1 — Line Three

I lifted the call on line three and heard nothing but a faint, uneven sound.

I set my coffee beside the folded dispatch checklist and tried again.

“Silverwood 911.

Can you hear me?”

No answer.

I could hear breathing, though, so I kept the line open.

“My name is Helen.

I’m here with you.

Can you tell me your name?”

A small sound came through.

“Mia.”

“Hello, Mia. Are you hurt?”

“Yes.”

I moved the coffee away from the console and opened a fresh entry.

It was 8:07 on a Tuesday morning in late September.

My coworker was sorting overnight reports.

Behind her, the printer had begun complaining about an empty paper tray.