No theatrics. No sudden flaring panic that would anchor her to the spot and let the security net gather her. Just movement—fast, silent, single-minded.
"DAKOTA!" The shout tore through the boutique like a dropped stone. Security reacted immediately, crisp and trained, but their speed could not unmake the space Dakota had already closed. Elena lunged after her with worst-case decisions already forming in the lines of her face; Erin followed, swearing and breathless.
By the time the guards were routing cameras and paging intercept teams, Dakota had vanished into the mall's arteries. The address seared in her mind. The bracelet tightened in her fist as if refusing to be let go. Behind her someone swore; somewhere a radio crackled with mounting orders. And somewhere, a sender smiled, the small, patient smile of someone who knew how to make a mother move.
