She rose abruptly, her stomach queasy. She didn’t want to relive those days. She had no idea how far she’d walked, or how long she’d been living like an animal in the wilderness. Sleeping in the dirt. Eating bugs. “I need to make some tea.”

He settled back against the couch, unperturbed. “Take all the time you need.”

Richards started scrolling through her phone. It occurred to Avery that she should call someone to check their credentials. She couldn’t tell if they were legit by looking at them. Confirming their identities seemed wise before she agreed to share personal details. She crossed the room and dug her phone out of her purse. The screen showed another text message notification. It was Ruth again, asking if Avery was okay.

She wasn’t okay. She was on the verge of a meltdown. She had to tell two strangers about her disturbing childhood, because Ruth had directed them to her. Avery felt obligated to assist the investigation. Turning them away would be cowardly, and it went against her code of ethics. Maybe she could help disband the cult, and free its members from their psychological prison. Innocent lives were at stake.

She always encouraged the young people she worked with to talk about traumatic events. She asked them to share their feelings and allow themselves to be vulnerable. It was a healthy part of the grieving process. But this physician had never been able to heal herself.

After she put the teapot on the stove, and turned up the heat on the thermostat, she placed a call to the local FBI field office. She had to wait several minutes to speak with a real person. The staff member asked for badge numbers, which Richards and Diaz recited dutifully. They didn’t seem fazed by Avery’s diligence. The man on the phone identified both agents as genuine. As proof, he sent Avery a temporary text message with photo IDs attached. Avery studied an official picture of Diaz in a dark suit, holding his badge up. His first name was Nicolas. He looked younger, but not lighter of spirit. The photo stayed on her screen for about thirty seconds before it disappeared.

The teapot whistled, letting off steam. She fixed a tray with three mugs. Richards accepted a cup. Diaz declined. A manila folder had been placed on the surface of the table, along with a pen. Avery had to sign an agreement to be interviewed. She was assured that her statement would be kept confidential.

Diaz had an app on his phone to record their conversation. He also took out a writing pad to take notes by hand. He started by identifying himself, Special Agent Richards and Avery. She reached for the wool blanket and wrapped it around her body. Her fingers shook with apprehension.

“Do you have any questions before we begin?” Diaz asked.

“Yes. How did you know I walked a hundred miles?”