Then stood.
Because if there was one thing I knew how to do, it was to start a fire.
And tomorrow?
Remi wasn’t walking out alone.
She was walking out with a goddamn army.
And Erin Voss was going to learn precisely what happens when you try to burn down something built on blood, resilience, and sisterhood.
We barely slept. Jack was on the phone until after midnight, calling in every favour, burning every bridge he was willing to lose. He spoke in clipped, professional tones to men in suits who only answered because they owed him something. I sent out messages until my fingers cramped. Texts. Emails. Calls. DMs. I hit up clients, friends, shelters, social workers, the women’s center, and even a few council aides who owed us more than they liked to admit. Every single person who had attended our last fundraiser...
And I asked them to pass the message on.
By morning, the knot in my stomach had settled into something heavier.
Resolve.
I put on a black blazer over one of Remi’s old t-shirts. The one that said"The System is Not Broken. It’s Working Exactly As Designed."I tied my hair back in a braid so tight it made my eyes sting. Jack stood at the door with coffee in one hand and a manila folder in the other. His tie was already knotted. He hadn’t said much. He didn’t have to.
We were past the point of words.
We pulled up to the precinct twenty minutes before they were scheduled to process the transfer. The sidewalks were empty.
For now.
Jack parked and sat for a moment, staring out the windshield like it was a battlefield.
“You ready?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “But she never was either. And she still stepped up.”
We got out and walked to the front steps. Two officers hovered near the doors, trying to appear relaxed, but failing miserably. I met their eyes. They looked away.
Cowards.
We stood in silence.
Waiting.
It started with one woman. A nurse from the clinic on Grant Street. She stepped out of her car and nodded at me like we were already in it together. Then came another. A teacher. Two more from one of the halfway houses. One of Remi’s old patients, who limped but held a sign that said,"She Saved Me."
Then a woman I didn’t know.
And another.
And another.
Within fifteen minutes, the street was full.
Not a mob.
A movement.
People holding signs and wearing shirts from the clinic. Speaking softly, and then louder, and then louder still.
"Justice for Remi."
