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Suddenly, in her mind, she was back in her childhood home. Everything seemed larger, distorted, the way places look in memories. She walked down the hallway toward her father's study, drawn by the sound of voices arguing.
"Someone has to stop them," her mother's voice said. "If you won't do it, I will."
"It's not that simple," her father replied. "You don't understand what these people are capable of."
Sheila reached for the doorknob, but it was too high, as if she were a child again. She stretched, straining to reach it.
The scene shifted. Now she was in the kitchen. Her mother stood at the sink, washing dishes. But the water running from the tap was red, staining her hands crimson.
"Mom?" Sheila tried to say, but no sound came out.
Henrietta turned, but her face was in shadow despite the bright kitchen lights. "Your father chose silence," she said. "Will you make the same choice?"
The kitchen darkened. Sheila heard footsteps behind her, heavy boots on linoleum. A green glow reflected off the windows—night vision goggles. She tried to warn her mother, but she still couldn't speak.
The scene changed again. She was in the mines now, running through endless tunnels. Her flashlight beam caught glimpses of crosses carved into the rock walls, hundreds of them, each one bleeding dark liquid that ran down the stone.
Her mother's voice reverberated through the tunnels. "You have to choose: Silence or truth. Safety or justice."
Something was chasing her. She could hear it getting closer. She rounded a corner and found herself face to face with her father. But he was younger, wearing his Internal Affairs badge.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice breaking. "I thought I could protect you."
Behind him, a figure in night vision goggles raised something metallic. Sheila tried to scream a warning, but—
"Sheila." A hand touched her shoulder, and she jerked awake to find Finn standing over her, his face tight with concern.
"What time is it?" she asked, struggling to shake off the nightmare's lingering unease.
"Just past seven. We've got a situation at the mines." He helped her sit up, his hand lingering supportively on her back. "The environmental protesters called in MSHA."
"Mine Safety and Health Administration?" Sheila ran a hand over her face, trying to focus. "Why?"
"Sarah Riggs apparently has connections there. She convinced them the deaths create a public safety emergency." Finn's expression was grim. "They're shutting down all access to the mine system. No exceptions—not even for law enforcement."
Sheila stood quickly, ignoring the head rush from sleeping in an awkward position. "They can't do that. We're in the middle of a murder investigation."
"They can, and they are. Two MSHA inspectors are already on site, posting closure notices. They're talking about sealing the main entrances until a full safety assessment can be completed."
"Which could take weeks." Sheila grabbed her jacket. "Where's my father?"
"Already headed up there. He's the one who called me, asked me to keep an eye on you. He didn't want to wake you." Finn followed her out of the break room.
Sheila stopped abruptly, turning to face him. "Wait a minute. Aren't you supposed to be resting? Doctor's orders."
"I can help in a limited capacity." Finn gestured at his side where he'd been shot. "No heavy lifting, no chasing suspects through mine tunnels. But I can drive you places, help coordinate search teams, that kind of thing."
She studied his face, noting the stubborn set of his jaw. Part of her wanted to order him to go home and rest—his wound was still healing, and the last thing she needed was him reinjuring himself. But another part of her was grateful for his presence, his steady support, especially with everything happening with her father.
"Fine," she said finally. "But you stay on the sidelines. No heroics."
"Me? Heroics?" He gave her a small smile. "Never."
"I mean it, Finn. The second anything feels wrong with that wound—"
"I'll tell you and go straight home," he finished. "Promise."
She nodded, knowing it was the best she could hope for.