Sergeant Pepper wouldn’t have many places where she could easily hide Chiave, what with the peony awards ceremony happening at the house. That pretty much left Mr. Lindsay’s house and the gardening shed.
Sloane and Amelia were betting on the gardening shed.
“Do you think she has Mr. Lindsay tied up in there too?” Amelia asked as they ran back through the tunnel.
“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Sloane gritted her teeth.
They tore through the basement, up the stairs, and out into the back hallway, almost knocking over Shakespeare Wikander.
“Hey, how’d you get the door open?” he asked in surprise, grabbing his top hat as it tumbled off his head. Two canaries burst from it and took flight down the hallway.
“We’re girl detectives,” Amelia bragged. “We’ve got skills.”
“Come on, Amelia! We’ll tell people all about it later!” Sloane dragged her friend through the mansion. They had to dodge the rest of the Miller-Poe family, who were all dressed in extremely fancy clothing.
“Amelia! Why are you wearing that?” Amanda Miller clasped her hands to her head in despair.
“Oh, look!” Baker cried. “It’s the entertainment! Isn’t she cute!”
“I’m not cute! I’m the bee’s knees!” Amelia cried as Sloane propelled her out of the house.
They made their way through the rose garden to the large shed at the edge of the woods. With its sloping, mossy roof, cheerful red bricks, and beveled glass windows, it looked way too charming to just be used for storage and messy gardening supplies.
And way, way too charming to be used as a prison for a defenseless dog and an injured old man.
“Can you see anything?” Amelia asked as they both pressed their faces against a smudged glass pane in one of the windows. No one had bothered to clean them in years, so everything inside seemed to be covered in a milky brown film.
“Not really,” Sloane confessed. “I don’t see either Chiave or Mr. Lindsay. But I’m betting she’d have them upstairs anyhow.”
She pointed at the rickety wooden stairs leading upward to the shed’s second floor. It didn’t have much in the way of windows, and they were obviously far too short to see into the ones it did have. Anything could be up there.
Anyone could be up there.
They tried the door, but it was locked up tight.
“Drat.” Amelia felt in her hair for another bobby pin while Sloane jiggled the handle in the hopes that it was just stuck. “I’m all out of bobby pins.”
They walked around the back of the building, hoping to find another way in. This time, they were in luck. A window had been cracked open, and together, they were able to lift the old, swollen pane up a little bit more.
“I’m not sure I can make it through that.” Sloane scrunched up her face uncertainly.
“I can. I’m smaller than you.” Amelia swept the hat off her head and handed it to Sloane for safekeeping. Her gloves and pearls quickly followed. “Besides, if I get caught, you can run faster than I can.”
“Okay, but be careful in there. I want to live to see us hit number one in Liechtenstein.” Sloane gave her friend a boost up and through the open window.
Amelia’s flailing legs disappeared through the crack. Sloane tugged anxiously on her ponytail, worried that Amelia might have fallen on a rack. Or stand up with a trowel sticking out of her skull.
But after a moment, Amelia got woozily to her feet, no trowel sticking anyplace uncomfortable. She gave Sloane the thumbs-up and headed toward the door to open it so Sloane could come inside too. Sloane scurried through the weeds growing along the side of the shed, planning on doing just that.
Only to screech to a halt and flatten herself against the brick wall.
Sergeant Pepper was walking across the yard, toward the shed.
Before Sloane could run back to the window and warn Amelia, the gardener reached the front door. She took out an old-fashioned iron key and used it to undo the lock.
“Hey, what are you doing in here?” she demanded, stepping inside and shutting the door behind her.
Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no.
Not only was Sloane losing her dad to a new family, her best friend was about to be murdered.
In a panic, Sloane cast about for something to do. She had to save Amelia—she had to get her friend out of there—she had to get help—she had to—she had to—to—
Without any coherent thought, Sloane picked up a large rock near the shed’s door.
And hefted it right through a window.
Glass shattered with a force that was both satisfying and caused Sloane to recoil. She covered her ears and turned her face away to avoid any shards. The stone crashed onto the floorboards beyond, smashing a small crater into them and sending splinters flying. Glass tinkled after it like confetti tossed at a party.
As the sound died away, Sloane uncovered her ears and looked in through the window.
Sergeant Pepper gaped at Sloane in astonishment.
And rage.
At least she forgot about Amelia. She yanked open the door as Amelia darted up the stairs to the shed’s second floor.
Sergeant Pepper stormed toward Sloane, shrieking, “What do you think you’re doing?”
From inside the building, Amelia shouted, “Sloane! I can hear barking upstairs!”
At that, Sergeant Pepper whipped back around. Then she turned to face Sloane again, clearly unsure which girl was the bigger threat.
Sloane scooped up another rock out of the garden and pulled her arm backward.
“I’m the pitcher for my softball team,” she warned the gardener. “Undefeated in our league.”
(Granted, that was partly because they’d only played two games this season. But Sloane didn’t see any reason to get into the specific details right now.)
That seemed to decide Sergeant Pepper.
She shot back into the shed and up the stairs, after Amelia.
“No! Stop!” Sloane cried after the gardener.
Going even deeper into the evil gardener’s lair hadn’t been quite what Sloane had in mind. She’d been hoping Sergeant Pepper would just freeze in place until Amelia could free Chiave. Then the three of them could run back to the mansion together.
Sloane was super fast. She launched herself after the gardener, determined to tackle her before she could harm Sloane’s friend. Amelia, however, had a talent of her own.
She was super clumsy.
(This might not seem like a talent to the average person, but it could sometimes come in handy all the same.)
In this case, Amelia tripped right as she reached the top step.
Having tripped, she skidded downward, selfie stick flying, arms up in the air and crying “WHOA!” as she went.
In the process, she ran into Sergeant Pepper. Who was not expecting a budding YouTube star to suddenly be bodysurfing toward her.
Amelia slammed into the gardener, knocking her off her feet as well. Sergeant Pepper cried out as the two of them slid their way down the stairs with the thump-thump-thump of two people who were about to be bruised and achy in places they’d rather not be bruised and achy.
Having been friends with Amelia long enough not to be entirely shocked by this turn of events, Sloane jumped to the side in time and managed not to be wiped out as well.
“Don’t try to save me!” Amelia shrieked as she bounced past. “Let my sacrifice mean something, Sloane! Upload my video to YouTube! Our subscribers will exact vengeance for me! Save Chiave!”
By now, Sloane could hear the barking that had sent Amelia up the stairs in the first place. She sprinted upward as Sergeant Pepper struggled to untangle herself from Amelia’s arms and legs.
Reaching the top of the stairs, Sloane discovered a short hallway cutting the second floor in half. There was a door on either side. Both of them were shut, but a desperate clawing and woofing came from behind one of them.
Down below, Sergeant Pepper cried, “Stop!”
Sloane ignored her and threw open the quivering door.
Chiave bounded out of it and thumped her happily in the chest. She slurped and snorfed Sloane’s face as Sloane tried to look past her into the room. It was dingy and gray, stacked full of more unwanted junk from Tangle Glen. There was a water dish and a bowl with dog food on the floor, but no Mr. Lindsay.
“Erf—Chiave! Get off!” Sloane pushed the dog’s face away from her own and sat upright.
Just as Sergeant Pepper staggered up the stairs.
Panting, she stood at the end of the hallway with her back and arms bent. As Sloane hugged Chiave, she thought that the gardener looked very much like the villain in a Wild West show. She had the posture of someone about to draw from a holster and the facial expression of someone who had just been knocked down the stairs.
Given that she was capable of kidnapping a dog and had no doubt done something terrible to Mr. Lindsay, Sloane’s stomach twisted with fear. She squeezed Chiave tighter, determined to find a way to protect them both as that fear spread out across her entire body. Every muscle in Sloane’s body tensed, hardening with determination.
If this was the end for Sloane, then she was at least going to make her dad, her grannies, and her mom proud.
Slayer Sloane never turned her back on a teammate. Not even a furry one.
So, she got up slowly, threateningly, to her feet herself.
Everything about Sloane’s own posture said, Go ahead. Make my day.
Only, Sergeant Pepper didn’t.
Because a selfie stick shot into view from around the corner, whacking one of Sergeant Pepper’s legs out from under her.
“Run, Sloane! Run!” Amelia wheezed, having crawled her way back to the top of the stairs. “Tell the poets to sing the praises of my exploits!”
Grabbing Chiave by the harness, Sloane did just that.
Sergeant Pepper tried to grab Sloane’s ankle as Sloane vaulted over the collapsed gardener. But Sloane easily cleared her. Shoving the bloodhound down the stairs first, Sloane hooked Amelia by the neck of her green dress and dragged her along too.
“Come on, Amelia!” she cried. “Our subscribers will have to get vengeance for you another day!”
“STOP!” Sergeant Pepper screamed behind them. Horrible thuds hinted that she was getting to her feet and was still after them.
By the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, Amelia had managed to fully right herself. Together, they burst out of the shed and toward the mansion with Chiave in the lead. The dog romped over the grass and through the garden with her tongue hanging out and her ears flapping in the breeze. As she reached the first brick pathway leading around the mansion, Chef Zahra came out the kitchen door with a basket slung over her arm.
Chiave changed courses and bounded over the chef to give her a lick and a snorf.
“Chiave? What are you doing out here?” Chef Zahra asked. “Is Mr. Lindsay back?”
“Help!” Amelia shrieked, still waving her selfie stick and camera about, filming it all. “Murder! Kidnapping!”
Chef Zahra startled at that, but before either Sloane or Amelia could explain, Chiave shot into the house.
Looking back over their shoulders, they watched as Sergeant Pepper altered her path.
Now she was running toward the front of the mansion, face grim.
She had to be planning to get to Chiave before Sloane and Amelia could.
“What is going on?” Chef Zahra demanded.
“I told you!” Amelia waved her arms about frantically. “Murder! Kidnapping!”
Sloane pushed Amelia’s arms down so she wouldn’t accidentally whap either the chef or herself. “Not murder! No one has been murdered!”
“We don’t know that!” Amelia argued. “We don’t know what she’s done to Mr. Lindsay! But we know that she kidnapped Chiave!”
They couldn’t afford to offer more of an explanation than that. Sergeant Pepper had already disappeared toward the front of the mansion, and Chiave could be anywhere inside. (Normally, one might assume that a dog would get distracted and remain in the kitchen near all the food in the hopes of a snack. But given that they were dealing with a peony-obsessed pooch and a house full of peonies, there was just no way of saying where Chiave might end up.)
Chef Zahra cried, “Wait!” after them as Sloane and Amelia took off again. They dodged their way around various waitstaff, dipping and twirling when necessary. Shooting out into the back servant hallway, they looked about in a panic.
“Do you see her? Do you see her?” Sloane cried, ponytail whapping her across the face as she jerked her head this way and that.
“No!” Amelia clutched her white hat against her head in despair. “And I’m not dressed properly for a rescue! And there’s no time to change! And Sloane, what are we going to do?”
A shriek from the portrait gallery gave them their answer. They ran to the portrait gallery where Kuneman clutched her silken bottom and gasped at Chiave, “I beg your pardon!”
Baker snickered into a crystal glass of punch. A very rumpled Sergeant Pepper pushed her way through the crowd and said smoothly, “Oh, that’s just how she says hello.”
As ever, Kuneman was elegantly dressed in a sparkly gown, her hair swept up on top of her head and a choker of diamonds at her throat. She did not seem at all reassured by either Sergeant Pepper’s words or her appearance. In fact, she put her hand to her throat in horror as the pearl-wearing Baker said, “Go on, Mrs. Kuneman. Say hello back. It’s only polite!”
As Baker and Kuneman prepared to resume their usual death match, Sergeant Pepper took Chiave by the harness and started to lead her away.
Amelia fell to her knees and pointed dramatically at them. She let loose with a bloodcurdling scream. “MUR-DERRRRRR!!!”
That got the attention of everyone in the room.
Several peopled dropped the stemmed glasses they had been holding. Gasps filled the air as everyone swung around to see what was going on.
Even the Judge looked up. Startled, for once, into noticing what was going on around him. He was holding Shakespeare Wikander’s purple peony in his hands.
“Who’s been murdered?” he asked. “This is supposed to be my weekend off. No one’s supposed to get murdered. I didn’t even bring my official robe. This is my casual-wear robe!”
Mr. Boening-Bradley pushed his way to the center of the crowd, clicking his hands in a praying mantis–like fashion. He gave a hysterical laugh, his mustache-antennae twitching and his eyes huge and unblinking. “Nothing to worry about, ladies and gentlemen! No peonies have been murdered! It’s just a dog!”
The crowd let out a sigh of relief, but that relief was short-lived. Chiave wriggled free of Sergeant Pepper’s grasp and barreled happily forward.
Toward the enormous vase of peonies in the middle of the entry hall. The one that had all the peonies combined together into one arrangement.
Apparently, the dog had decided there was no sense in snorfing the flowers one by one when she could just roll about in all of them at once.
Realizing what Chiave was about to do, Sloane put on a burst of speed. She shoved past Amelia and Sergeant Pepper alike, diving through the double doors and toward the foyer.
As she did so, Sloane shouted, “NO! Chiave—stop!”
But the dog ignored her.
And leaped into the air.
Toward the vase loaned to the peony competition by the Toledo Museum of Art…
…and then into it.
The bloodhound swept the vase right off the marble table on which it had been set. It was big and heavy, but Chiave was bigger and heavier.
It tipped over the edge and smashed onto the floor.
Shards of china went everywhere.
Prizewinning (or at least potentially prizewinning peonies) were flung all across the foyer floor.
Behind Sloane, shrieks filled the air as competitors realized what was happening to their precious flowers.
Mr. Boening-Bradley fell to the floor with a thud, having fainted dead away.
Amelia switched off her camera for the moment, not at all sure she wanted proof that they had accidentally helped to break the art museum’s loaned-out vase.
Chiave landed on the floor too. By then, she’d already figured out that she’d done something very bad. Shoulders hunched, tail between her legs, the bloodhound didn’t even bother to sniff any of the flowers she’d worked so hard to reach. Instead, she took off up the curved stairway to the second floor.
Sergeant Pepper had recovered from the shock of being accused of murder. Sprinting out into the foyer, she pushed past Sloane and continued up the stairs after Chiave.
“Oh no you don’t!” Amelia shouted, turning her camera back on as she dashed after the gardener. She accidentally knocked Sloane over as she passed by.
In the portrait gallery, someone screamed, “My Buckeye Belle!”
Someone else cried, “She’s ruined my Chocolate Soldier!”
“Oh, just look at the state of my Julia Rose!”
As Sloane got to her feet, she could only assume these were the names of the various peonies scattered about on the floor in front of her. She checked her hands and knees for shards of china and was grateful to find none. A leaf was sticking to her leg. Baker dashed forward and snatched it from her.
“My Pink Derby!” she gasped. “You’ve destroyed my Pink Derby!”
Sloane opened her mouth to point out that she’d done no such thing. It was hardly her fault that Mr. Lindsay’s dog was snorfing-obsessed. Then she caught a glimpse at the look on Baker’s face and took a step backward as the woman pointed her finger at Sloane so dramatically that you would have thought she’d been taking lessons from Amelia.
“SABOTAGE!” Baker’s finger shook as she accused Sloane. “This girl is sabotaging us all! And her father is the judge!”
“He’s not my dad!” Sloane exclaimed automatically. Then, she took in the crowd of angry gardeners funneling into the foyer from the portrait gallery.
Not a single one of them looked happy.
It suddenly occurred to Sloane that, as gardeners, they might very well have pruning sheers and trowels hidden on them.
Spinning around, she took off up the stairs after Amelia, Sergeant Pepper, and Chiave. They were at the end of the hallway, grappling over the leash that Sergeant Pepper had managed to attach to the dog when Amanda Miller threw open her door.
“What on earth is going on out here?” she demanded, accidentally whapping her daughter to the side with the door.
Sergeant Pepper let out a triumphant yell.
Then she looked toward Sloane and froze in horror.
Glancing over her shoulder, Sloane realized that she had a mob of angry gardeners hot on her heels. Kuneman actually had a pair of garden clippers in one bejeweled hand, and Baker was waving about a golden trowel.
(Sloane had known it. She had known it. Never mess with a gardener. You just didn’t know what they might be carrying.)
Putting on a burst of speed, Sloane made it down the hallway in seconds. She ripped the leash out of Sergeant Pepper’s grip as Ashley and Aiden looked out from their room. Both of their jaws dropped open in horror.
Quick as lightning, Aiden ducked back into their room and returned to the doorway with an armful of vases. He began flinging peonies over the yellow caution tape and at the furious horde. “Here! Take them back! We never wanted them anyway!”
That caused most of the gardeners to draw to a halt in confusion. No one seemed to be able to figure out why flowers were raining down on their heads. (Especially since Ashley had started to chuck the flowers out of their room too. Meanwhile, Amanda Miller had the weary look of someone thinking long and hard about just closing her door, putting her earbuds in, and taking a nice long, hot bath while events sorted themselves out.)
Chiave seemed to think the crowd was coming for her (which it sort of was). She took off running even faster than Sloane, ripping her leash free from Sloane’s grasp.
“Wait! No! Chiave, come back!” Rather than heading downward, toward the kitchen and people who might be able to help, the bloodhound headed up the kitchen stairs.
Toward the smaller rooms on the former servants’ floor.
And past that to the attic beyond.
Or, at the very least, whatever remained of the attic beyond.
The attic door still hung open from when Sloane had helped Chef Zahra rescue her peonies. Beyond it, Sloane could see the shattered remains of the chef’s potting table and grow lamps beneath the fallen branch. Chiave scampered right over all the little twigs and leaves littering the floor to scoot underneath the branch itself.
Disappearing into the attic on the other side.
A bit of a ruckus reached Sloane’s ears, and then a very bedraggled Amelia appeared at her side.
“Managed to shove Sergeant Pepper into Aidan’s room!” she panted. “But that will only give us a few seconds. She was already fighting her way out again, throwing vases like grenades at all of those gardeners.”
Turning her attention back to the attic, Sloane walked carefully inside. She felt the floorboards with her sneakers, but they seemed firm. She was fairly confident she wouldn’t fall through the ceiling into Aiden and Ashley’s room below.
Fairly confident.
Bending over, she tried to peer through the green mesh of leaves arching over the floor. “Chiave? Come back here, girl!”
A whimper on the other side of the branch said that Chiave was still feeling like a bad dog for knocking over the vase in the foyer.
“I’m going in,” Sloane said grimly, dropping onto her stomach so she could wiggle through the forest now sprouting in the attic.
“Not without me, you aren’t.” Amelia got down on her hands and knees as well. With a grimace, she added, “Oh, I’m definitely not dressed right for this, Sloane!”
“What would even be the right outfit for this?” Sloane grimaced herself as a branch whapped her in the face. Pokey little twigs tore at their hair and clothing as they wormed their way over the floorboards. Fallen slate shingles bruised their hands and knees, tearing a hole in the skirt of Amelia’s green dress.
Finally, they reached the other side of the mess. Standing up, Sloane spat out a mouthful of leaves and tossed her ponytail back over her shoulder. Amelia emerged looking like some sort of nature spirit with entire branches caught in her hair.
Chiave huddled against the wall over on the far side of the attic, clearly convinced that she was in trouble. The girls ran over to the bloodhound and scooped her up into an embrace.
“Aw, Chiave. It’s no big deal,” Amelia assured her. “I break things all the time.”
Whether the dog understood them or not, they petted her until she calmed down.
Which was right before Sergeant Pepper’s voice rang out, “I know you’re in there! You’d better come out before something terrible happens to you!”
Sloane and Amelia stiffened in fear. They looked at each other in desperation.
Now what should they do?
Leaping to her feet, Sloane searched about for an exit. Where was a good hidden passageway when you needed one? If there were any in the attic, she hadn’t found any yesterday and couldn’t spot any now, either.
“Fine! I’m coming in after you!” As soon as Sergeant Pepper said it, they could hear the sounds of the branches and leaves swishing and scraping at the gardener as she made her way toward them.
“The window!” Sloane whispered, pointing to an oval-shaped opening. “We can crawl out onto the roof and then either get someone’s attention or else climb down the side of the house.”
They could see the tree branch shaking now, meaning that Sergeant Pepper must almost be through it. Together, they ran over to the window. It opened more easily than Sloane had expected, swinging to the side with one push.
“You first,” Amelia said. “That way I can hand you Chiave.”
Sloane slung her leg over the wooden ledge and eased her way out onto the damaged roof. The wood still felt soft from last night’s downpour. Which didn’t seem to be entirely over just yet. Rain spattered her face as she finished climbing through the window.
Of course it would start to rain again right when she needed a clear, calm day to keep from plummeting to her death. Sloane slid carefully on her bottom down the wet, sloping roof of the three-story mansion and toward a probably spattery death below. Definitely toward a bone-cracking, skull-splitting drop to the ground.
“Careful! Careful!” Amelia called from the oval-shaped attic window out of which Sloane had just escaped.
“That’s not helping, Amelia!” Sloane clenched her teeth as the wind smacked her long black ponytail into her eyes, blinding her. Then it playfully changed directions and pushed at her back as though this was all a fun game.
At least the roof’s broken, mossy shingles snagged her shorts, slowing her downward slide.
A bit.
A very little bit.
Hopefully enough of a bit.
“Sloane!” Amelia squeaked in terror from the attic window. “Sloane, don’t die!”
Before Sloane could answer, her shorts tore free from the old, crumbling slate tiles. Instantly, she picked up speed on the slick rooftop, speeding faster and faster toward the abyss beyond the rain gutter. Just as she thought she was going to have to send Amelia a note from the afterlife, saying, Whoops! Sorry! her right foot hit the metal trough and sunk down into the soggy mess of old leaves still stuck there from last autumn.
Whew! Sloane’s left foot joined her right foot to land softly in the gutter. Her knees bent, allowing her bottom to come to a gentle stop. Before Sloane could sigh in relief, she made the mistake of looking over the edge.
It was a long way to the ground.
Three stories, to be exact.
Long enough to make her very, very grateful for the rain gutter. Even if it was now filling her shoes up with water.
Soggy socks and ruined shoes were still better than ending up as a soggy, ruined mess yourself.
Sloane turned back around to find Amelia still peering anxiously out the window. Calling up to her friend, Sloane said, “I survived!”
“Oh, good!” Amelia’s very freckled face relaxed.
Then, that face disappeared with a shriek as Amelia was yanked backward, deeper inside the attic.
“Amelia!” Sloane cried, twisting around to try to crawl back up the slick shingles to help her friend. “Amelia, don’t you dare die, either!”
Barking covered whatever else Amelia might have yelled back. Inside the murky gloom of the attic, Amelia and her attacker merged together into a misshapen beast with too many elbows and twirling backs—as well as the teeth and tail of a very angry bloodhound.
“OW!” Someone screamed as the dog sank teeth into an arm. Whether it was Amelia or their pursuer, Sloane didn’t know.
“AMELIA!” she shrieked again.
But her friend didn’t answer her.
Instead, the dog jumped out of the window.
Hurtling straight toward Sloane.
With enough speed to knock them both over the side of the building onto the patio stones three stories below.
When they did, Sloane’s shoes wouldn’t be the only soggy mess.
Thinking quickly, Sloane rolled to the side. She looped one arm around a vent pipe poking up out of the roof. With her free hand, she caught Chiave by the leash attached to the dog’s harness. The bloodhound’s paws scrabbled at the slick tiles, trying to get a foothold. Instead, her paws eventually sank into the leaf-logged gutter just like Sloane’s feet.
It was too much weight for the gutter.
The ancient, rusty bolts holding it in place screeched in protest.
And then, one by one, they started popping out of their sockets.
“Amelia!” Sloane screamed. She clung more tightly to the vent pipe as the gutter pushed away from the house. The metal squealed as it twisted away, leaving her feet and Chiave’s paws dangling in the air. The bloodhound threw back her head and howled.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, Sloane realized that they were both still slooooooowly slipping downward.
The vent pipe was buckling under the weight of Sloane’s grasp.
“Oh no. Oh no—oh no—oh no!” Sloane hugged Chiave more tightly as the dog howled again. “Amelia! Help!”
Down below, a crowd was gathering. Amanda Miller was on her phone, hopefully calling for a rescue squad. Aiden and Ashley were both attempting to climb the columns lifting up the porch roof in an attempt to get to Sloane.
There was no way anyone was going to get to Sloane in time.
The vent pipe twisted, dipping Sloane and Chiave farther over the side. By now, Sloane’s legs were entirely over the edge of the roof. Feet swinging about, trying to get a foothold on something that might keep her from falling.
“Hold on, Sloane!” the Judge called up to her. Unhelpfully, he didn’t tell her how or what to hold on to.
The vent pipe snapped.
Sloane felt the ancient, brittle metal give. Fear shot through her as she slid downward. Her heart fluttered upward as though trying to escape, while her brain tried to figure out some way in which this would all be fine. She wasn’t really falling.
Except that she was—
—and yet her brain was right. It was fine.
Because someone caught her.