Rain tapped gently against the windows like a lullaby, but inside the small living room, the storm was no match for the chaos of cardboard swords.
"Freeze! You're under arrest!" Yvonne shouted, pointing a glittery pink wand at her father.
He gasped dramatically, hands in the air. "Please, Officer Bunny, I swear I didn't steal the cookies!"
"You have the right to remain sparkly!" she declared, pouncing on him.
Detective Joel,tough cop, known for cracking trafficking rings, was now flat on the carpet, pinned by a seven-year-old in bunny ears and a tutu.
Yvonne's mom, Eliza, peeked from the kitchen with a smirk, holding a wooden spoon like a microphone. "You two need backup in there?"
"No, Mom, I've got him!" leaning close to her dad's face. "Confess or I tickle you."
Joel tried to keep a straight face, but it broke under her wiggling fingers. Laughter filled the room, loud, pure, and rare. The kind of laughter that makes a house feel like a home.
"Okay! Okay! I stole the cookies! But your mother was the getaway driver!"
Eliza raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
Yvonne gasped and looked back at her mother like a betrayed officer. "Mom?!"
Joel used the distraction to flip Yvonne off him gently and sit up, pulling her into his lap. "We're a family of troublemakers," he said, brushing her cheek. "But the good kind."
She nodded seriously. "Like superheroes."
"Exactly," he said, kissing the top of her head.
The moment lingered, warm and perfect. A fireplace crackled. Eliza hummed in the kitchen. And for a second, just one second Joel believed maybe he could have both. The badge and the bunny ears. Justice and peace. A family and a clean conscience.
But that was before the phone call.
Before blood, riddles, and impossible choices.
Before he walked into a cell and whispered to a devil.
Before everything broke.
The rain fell sideways.
It didn't pour. It slapped, angry and wet against the windows of the rusted van screeching through the hills at 2:03 a.m. Sirens off. Headlights dimmed. The kind of night that whispered, "Somebody's gonna die."
Inside the van, Joel kept his eyes on the glowing GPS screen while chewing on the same toothpick he'd been sucking since lunch. His SWAT vest felt tighter than usual. The name tag read: Detective Joel.
It used to say "Dad of the Year." He changed it after he pistol-whipped a drunk for cussing in front of Yvonne.
"Target's up ahead," said rookie officer Charles, tapping a shaky finger against the map. "Old farmhouse. No neighbors for miles. Dispatch says they've been off-grid for years. The cult, I mean."
Joel didn't reply. He just stared into the dark, that twitch in his jaw flaring again.
He wasn't thinking about the cult.
He was thinking about Yvonne.
His little angel was fast asleep by now, cuddled in pink blankets. They'd been playing "cops and bad guys" earlier that day. He told her he'd bring her back a "souvenir" if tonight's operation went well.
Spoiler: it wouldn't.