Cold coffee rested beside his elbow.
By the third replay, his jaw tightened so hard the muscle in his cheek jumped visibly.
Officers who worked with Avery later admitted they knew something terrible waited inside that house the moment he stood up without speaking.
Veteran officers develop instincts.
Not magical instincts.
Human instincts.
The kind created after decades of hearing lies wrapped in calm voices.
Avery had spent twenty-eight years dealing with violence hidden behind clean curtains.
He knew the difference between confusion and terror.
This was terror.
The drive to Willow Bend lasted seven minutes.
According to Avery, it felt like forty.
Rain hissed against the windshield.
Traffic lights reflected across wet pavement.
Somewhere nearby, normal life continued.
Children leaving school.
People buying groceries.
Teenagers scrolling through phones.
Nobody outside that police cruiser understood a child was sitting in a bedroom wondering whether adults would arrive in time.
When Avery pulled onto Willow Bend Drive, he noticed the chalk drawings first.
