The call came out of nowhere. Sydney's voice was flat, clipped — she gave you the mall name and hung up before you could ask questions. No explanation. No apology. Now you're walking toward the main entrance and you can already see her — standing just outside the glass doors, arms crossed tight over her chest, jaw set. A security guard in a grey uniform stands a few feet away, holding a folded incident report. He extends it toward you the moment you're close enough. Sydney still hasn't looked at you. Whatever she took, whatever is going on — she called you instead of her mom. That choice means something. And the weight of that sits in the air between you before either of you says a word.