The cell door creaked open again.
Nelly looked up, eyes swollen, barely able to react before two officers stepped in.
> "Marcus Nelly," one of them barked. "Up. You're being moved."
> "Moved where?" she asked weakly, her voice hoarse.
They didn't answer.
They grabbed her roughly by the arm and dragged her out of the holding cell.
> "Hey! Be gentle!" a female officer nearby called out, but they ignored her.
They pulled her down a dim corridor — darker, colder than the rest of the station.
The fluorescent lights above flickered as they approached a heavy metal door.
The Custody Room.
The room smelled of sweat and fear.
It was where hardened criminals were taken for "interrogation."
Not interviews. Not questions. Interrogation.
Inside, two older officers stood waiting — one with a baton in hand, the other flipping through a file.
Nelly was shoved onto a chair in the center of the room.
> "Name," the officer with the baton asked.
> "Nelly Markcus," she said quietly.
He slapped the table hard, making her jump.
> "Louder!"
> "Nelly Markcus!" she cried, flinching.
The other officer set down the file and squinted at her.
> "Nineteen years old. Accused of attempted murder. Possible illegal possession of a firearm. Suspicion of conspiracy."
> "She doesn't look like a killer," the one with the baton muttered. "But the rich ones are always good at pretending."
> "I'm not—" Nelly began.
But before she could finish, the baton slammed against the table again.
> "We ask the questions. You answer."
Tears welled up in her eyes, but she bit her lip.
> "Who gave you the gun?"
"Were you paid to shoot Jimmy Benson?"
"Are you working for someone?"
> "I didn't shoot him!" Nelly finally screamed, her voice echoing.
The officer grabbed her by the collar and yanked her forward.
> "Then why were you standing beside him when the shot was fired?! Why is your name the only one mentioned in the report?!"
> "Because Mr. Benson wants me gone!" she cried. "He never wanted me there. None of them did!"
The room fell silent for a moment. One officer leaned closer, studying her face.
> "You're lying."
Then the baton was raised—not to strike her, but to threaten.
Before it could drop—
"Enough!" a voice snapped from the doorway.
Everyone turned.
It was a senior female officer.
> "She's a student, not a gang leader. You question her properly or I file a complaint."
The men stepped back reluctantly.
The woman approached Nelly, who was trembling, eyes wide, breath shallow.
> "Take her back to the holding cell," the officer said firmly. "And call me if anyone tries this nonsense again."
Nelly was led out silently, broken but still breathing.
Yesss! 🔥 That's a perfect turn. Omar stepping up as the unexpected hero gives this moment so much weight. Here's the next powerful scene — Nelly is rescued by someone she didn't expect, and it hits hard:
---
Chapter 20 – The Witness That Spoke
Nelly sat back in the cold cell, arms wrapped around herself, shivering not from the cold—but from everything.
Her mind replayed Jimmy's blood. The sirens. Luna's cruel laugh.
The award she would never hold again.
Her dreams, crushed and bruised like her spirit.
Suddenly—
the cell door swung open.
A young officer entered. "Nelly Markcus. Someone's here for you."
She looked up slowly, heart racing. "Who?"
But he didn't answer.
He stepped aside.
Omar.
Wearing his school blazer, breathing hard, eyes blazing.
> "Nelly!" he rushed to her, relief washing over his face.
She stood shakily. "Omar…?"
> "I'm here. I'm getting you out."
Behind him, a tall man in a fine suit handed documents to the front desk.
Omar's father's lawyer. Everything was legal. Clean. And fast.
> "Your bail has been processed," the officer muttered reluctantly. "You're free… for now."
As they stepped out of the station, Nelly still looked dazed.
> "Why would you do this?" she whispered.
Omar turned to her, serious now.
> "Because I was there, Nelly. I stood beside you. I saw the whole thing."
> "You never even moved. You didn't flinch. You didn't reach for anything."
> "And I know you. You wouldn't shoot Jimmy. Not even by accident."
She wiped her tears as he continued.
> "My parents gave me permission to post bail. They've seen the news. They believe you too. They've promised to look into this — for real. Not like Benson."
> "You… believe me?"
> "With everything in me," Omar said.
> "We were three people standing together when it happened. If you had a gun, I'd have known. If you'd shot Jimmy, I wouldn't still be standing here."
Nelly's lips trembled.
> "Thank you," she said softly. "For not being afraid to stand by me."
Omar gave her a small smile. "Don't thank me yet. We've got a long way to go. But now, you're not alone."
---
A New Kind of Shelter
The black SUV pulled into a long marble driveway, winding up toward a breathtaking modern mansion surrounded by trimmed hedges and glowing garden lights.
Nelly's jaw dropped as the gates closed behind them.
> "You live here?" she whispered.
Omar gave a soft laugh. "Yeah. It's just home to me. But I know it's… a lot."
The driver opened the door. Nelly stepped out, still holding onto the thin jacket he'd draped over her shoulders after leaving the station.
Inside the house, everything smelled of cinnamon and expensive wood polish. A chandelier hung in the middle of the ceiling like something from a magazine.
A tall woman stepped out from the hallway — elegant, in her 40s, with kind eyes and grace.
> "You must be Nelly," she said warmly. "Welcome. I'm Omar's mother. You're safe here."
Nelly bowed her head slightly, too overwhelmed to speak.
> "Come," Omar said gently. "I'll show you to my room."
Upstairs, the room was huge but neat — lined with books, games, and music gear. Posters hung on the wall beside a large window with curtains blowing softly.
Omar walked to his closet and pulled out a clean white shirt and soft cotton shorts.
> "These might fit," he said, handing them over. "The bathroom is right there. Take your time. I'll wait downstairs."
Nelly paused, staring at him.
> "Omar… thank you. I mean it."
He smiled. "You don't have to thank me. Just rest."
Then he quietly walked out, giving her privacy.
---
Moments Later...
The hot water ran over her skin, washing away the fear, the dirt from the cell, and some of the pain. For the first time in days, Nelly breathed.
She looked at herself in the mirror after the bath — pale, tired eyes, but somehow... still standing.
She changed into the soft clothes and stepped downstairs slowly.
The dining room was glowing with warm lights.
Omar stood up as she entered.
> "You look better," he said, gesturing to the chair next to him.
His little sister peeked from the side, whispering shyly, "She's pretty."
Omar's mom laughed. "Come sit, Nelly. Eat. Everything's fresh."
As Nelly sat, a warm plate was placed in front of her — rice, stew, fried plantains, and grilled chicken.
> "This is the first meal I've had in two days," she whispered.
Omar looked at her gently.
> "Then you'll have many more. As long as you're here, you're not going to suffer again."