Officer Daniel Reyes had walked through hundreds of supermarkets in his years on patrol. He had seen it all—shoplifters with guilty eyes, kids hiding candy in their pockets, arguments over expired coupons. Nothing ever truly surprised him anymore. Until that night.
The supermarket on Pinehill Avenue was nearly empty, the fluorescent lights buzzing softly overhead. The air smelled faintly of detergent and burnt coffee from the small in-store café. Daniel walked slowly between the aisles, clipboard in hand, checking off security details. Routine. Boring, even. Just how he liked it.
Then came the squeak of a cart wheel.
He turned instinctively. A man and a little girl were walking through the cereal aisle. The girl couldn’t have been more than six—tiny, with messy brown hair and a vivid pink dress that seemed to swallow her. Her hand was clasped tightly in the man’s. Too tightly.
It might have been nothing. But something about the stiffness in her posture, the way her eyes darted—not like a child’s random curiosity, but like a trapped bird—made his stomach tighten.
Then she looked up. Their eyes met.
And she raised her hand.
Five fingers. Then, slowly, the thumb folded in, and the fingers curled down, trapping it.
Daniel froze.
He knew that signal. He’d seen it in training videos, in public awareness posters—the silent hand signal for distress, meant for victims who couldn’t speak freely. He’d never seen it used in real life.
Until now.
The man tugged her hand sharply, breaking the moment. Daniel straightened his posture, masking the rising storm inside him. He had to play this right. If the man was dangerous, one wrong move could trigger disaster.
He followed them from a distance, his heartbeat steady but his breathing shallow. The man’s behavior was subtle—too subtle. He wasn’t rushing, but his eyes flicked to the exits every few seconds. He was planning something.
Daniel’s hand moved toward his radio.
“Dispatch, this is Officer Reyes. I’ve got a possible child abduction in progress at the Pinehill Supermarket. Caucasian male, gray shirt, late thirties. Victim appears to be a young female, approximately six years old. I’m maintaining visual.”
The reply came quick and low:
“Backup en route. ETA five minutes. Proceed with caution.”
Five minutes.
That might be too long.
The man turned suddenly into aisle nine—cleaning supplies. Daniel followed, keeping his distance, pretending to browse the shelves. The girl’s small voice reached his ears, trembling.
“Can we go home soon?”
“Soon,” the man muttered. “After this.”
Daniel stepped closer, just enough for the man to notice him.
“Evening,” he said casually.
The man flinched almost imperceptibly. “Evening, officer.”
“Everything alright here?” Daniel asked, his tone light, conversational. His eyes flicked briefly to the girl—her lip trembled, eyes wet. She didn’t dare repeat the signal. But she didn’t need to. Her fear said it all.
“We’re fine,” the man replied. His voice was smooth, too smooth. “Just getting some things for her mother.”
Daniel nodded. “Nice of you. What’s her name?”
The man hesitated. Just for a second.
“Emily,” he said finally.
The girl’s eyes widened, and she shook her head. Barely. But enough.
“Is that right, sweetheart?” Daniel crouched slightly, softening his tone. “Your name’s Emily?”
She opened her mouth—then froze. The man’s grip tightened on her hand. Hard.
“Tell the officer your name,” the man said evenly.
Her eyes filled with tears.
That was enough.
Daniel rose slowly. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to let go of her hand.”
The man’s calm cracked. “You don’t understand—”
“Now.” Daniel’s voice hardened. “Step back.”
And then, chaos.
The man shoved the girl forward and bolted down the aisle. She stumbled, crying out. Daniel lunged, catching her before she hit the ground. “You’re safe, I’ve got you,” he whispered, then sprinted after the fleeing figure.
“Stop! Police!” His voice thundered through the empty aisles.
The man crashed through the produce section, knocking over displays of apples that rolled like marbles underfoot. He reached the back exit, slammed his shoulder against it, and vanished into the night.
Daniel burst through seconds later into the loading dock area. Rain fell in sheets, pounding against metal and concrete. A shadow darted behind a delivery truck. Daniel drew his weapon.
“Freeze!”
The man didn’t stop. He turned, a glint of metal in his hand. A knife.
“Don’t do it,” Daniel warned. “Put it down!”
For a heartbeat, the man hesitated—and then lunged.
A single shot cracked the night.
The knife clattered to the ground.
The man fell, clutching his shoulder, his gray shirt blooming red. Daniel kicked the weapon aside and cuffed him swiftly as sirens wailed in the distance.
Inside, paramedics were already comforting the little girl. She was shaking, but safe. When Daniel approached, she looked up at him with wide eyes.
“Is he gone?” she whispered.
“He’s gone,” Daniel said softly. “You’re safe now.”
Her small hand reached out and grabbed his. “Thank you.”
He smiled faintly. “You did the right thing, kiddo. That signal saved your life.”
The paramedic leaned closer. “We’re trying to reach her parents, but… she says she doesn’t have any. She doesn’t know where she’s from.”
Daniel frowned. “What?”
The girl looked down. “He told me to say my name was Emily. But that’s not my name.”
“Then what is it?” Daniel asked gently.
She hesitated. “He called me ‘Nine.’”
Daniel’s stomach tightened. “Nine?”
She nodded. “He said I was the ninth one.”
The air seemed to grow colder.
Two days later, Daniel stood in the interrogation room across from the suspect—real name, Victor Hales. A known trafficker. On the table between them lay a photograph: a group of children, ages five to eight, standing in a dimly lit room. Nine children. Only one had been found.
“Where are the others, Victor?” Daniel’s voice was low, lethal.
Victor smirked. His arm was bandaged, but his eyes burned with defiance.
“You think you stopped something?” he sneered. “You stopped one delivery. The rest are already gone.”
Daniel’s jaw clenched. “Not for long.”
Victor chuckled darkly. “You think that girl was lucky? Wait until you find out who she really is.”
“What do you mean?” Daniel snapped.
Victor leaned forward, whispering, “She wasn’t a victim, officer. She was bait.”
Daniel froze. His blood turned to ice.
Before he could react, the lights in the station flickered—and went out.
From somewhere in the dark hallway came a small, trembling voice.
“Officer Reyes?”
He turned toward the sound.
The little girl stood there, clutching her pink dress.
But her eyes… her eyes were no longer afraid.
They were calm. Cold. Watching him.
And in her tiny hand—five fingers opened, thumb folding inward—
She gave the signal.
Only this time, she wasn’t asking for help.