A low radio hum fills the dim garage—tools clink softly, dust drifting through warm light from the open door—
then—
DRAG…
pause…
DRAG…
The sound cuts through everything.
Camera WHIP-PANS to the doorway.
A small girl stands there.
Backlit.
Still.
Then she steps forward.
Limping.
Uneven.
“My leg… feels wrong…”
Her voice is soft.
Strained.
The garage goes quiet.
Tools stop mid-air.
Men turn slowly.
Watching.
Mack steps forward—
calm at first—
then kneels in front of her.
Careful.
Gentle.
“Hey… you’re okay. What’s your name?”
She doesn’t answer.
Just looks at him.
Tired eyes.
Too old for her age.
A long beat.
Then—
she lifts her dress slightly.
Just enough.
The camera pushes in—
tight on Mack’s face.
Something breaks.
Concern—
turns into shock.
Then something darker.
All sound drops.
Silence.
The air tightens.
“…who did this…?”
His voice is low now.
Shaken.
The girl looks down.
Then back up at him.
“No one.”
A beat.
Too still.
Too wrong.
She holds his gaze.
“They said it’s normal.”
The words hang—
heavy—
unbearable—
The heartbeat rises.
Louder.
Closer.
Mack doesn’t move.
Can’t.
The men behind him frozen.
And just as the moment collapses—
