The world was aflame. Abbie could feel the intensity of the heat assaulting her skin, making it feel as thin and brittle as paper. She could barely breathe; her throat ached with an acrid, smoky stench. She was only dimly aware of the chaos around her; cops and feds milled around uselessly; water spewed from dozens of fire hoses towards the blazing house where it fizzed and evaporated.

Her insides roiled in horror. The urgent need to find Jenny fought with the wave of powerlessness that swept over her, remembering the part she had played in bringing this nightmare to pass.

The phone call had been planned in painstaking detail. Abbie was given a list of question and answer scenarios that had been designed to achieve the primary objective: freeing the hostages with minimal casualties. Even without the strict instruction not to deviate from the script, Abbie felt the weight of what was being asked of her.

From time to time, she sought out Crane's eyes in the crowd, looking for reassurance. Shaking with fear, she found them again and again, feeling the warmth of his compassion and the unwavering trust radiating from him, even at a distance.

She positioned the headset, feeling the stares of the ATF agents hovering around her. The piercing sound of the dial tone assaulted her ears.

'Hello?'

The voice was male, middle-aged and raspy from too many cigarettes. Abbie recognised a slight Southern drawl among his elongated syllables.

'This is Lieutenant Abbie Mills from Sleepy Hollow Sheriff's Department. You wanted to speak to me?'

There was a long silence. Abbie wondered for a moment if the call had been disconnected. 'Hello? Mr. Larroquette, are you there?' She heard a slight tinge of panic in her voice.

'Abbie?'

She almost didn't recognise Jenny's voice; she sounded so panicked and small. Her skin prickled with trepidation. 'Jenny, are you okay?'

'Abbie, you have to listen. There are twenty-four people here, including children. These people are well-armed and are prepared to die rather than surrender to the police. They have enough cyanide tablets for everybody.'

It was as bad as Abbie could have imagined. Images of Ruby Ridge and Waco appeared in her mind; smoke and flames billowing from buildings and the horror of imagining what the people inside were suffered. She would do anything in her power to avoid that result.

'What do they want?'

'Larroquette demands that the ATF clears off. He says they'll only deal with Sleepy Hollow's finest.'

Abbie raised her eyebrows. She knew that there was no way in hell that Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms, one of the most uncompromising branches of the U.S. government, would back off. Before she could frame a negative response, Jenny was speaking again.

'He understands that this is a tough sell, but as a gesture of faith, he's willing to release the kids. In return for this, he asks that the police move back twenty feet as he suspects that they have itchy trigger fingers, and he's concerned for the safety of the children.'

It seemed like quite a reasonable suggestion, which was she knew that why Agent Davis would hate it. Sure enough, she saw him shake his head firmly. This was why she hated being forced to play piggy-in-the-middle. She would get flack for taking reasonable suggestions that would probably save lives.

But all those children…

'Tell him we're willing to negotiate.'

Abbie could feel ash raining down on her. She dared not guess what it consisted of, her mind was so consumed with terror. Watching the inferno raging through the outbuildings and heading towards the tree-line, she heard herself screaming Jenny's name, over and over.

She recalled the events of a few hours ago with an aching clarity. She had tried to act the go-between, to be calm and diplomatic, but it seemed that every choice made things worse. A series of quick decisions on her part – rash, but well-intentioned – had culminated in a disastrous reaction from the ATF. They refused to give way, to surrender an inch.

Before she knew it, the house was up in flames.

She may have lost consciousness. The next thing she knew she was crouching next to a police car and someone was calling her.

'Miss Mills? Lieutenant!'

Like a dream, she saw Crane striding through the swirling tendrils of smoke. She had never felt so glad to have someone disregard her instructions.

'Crane!' She grabbed at his arms, desperate for contact, to feel something solid and real. 'Crane, I can't find Jenny…' Her voice was so small and frail in her ears; in that moment she despised herself. 'I did this, Crane. I caused this.'

Crane held her shoulder firmly, sensing her need to be held. He tilted her forward ever so slightly, allowing her head to lean into his chest. 'Whatever you believe, you are not responsible for this.'

'But Jenny…'

He stepped back, looking into her eyes with meaning. 'Jenny is safe,' he said calmly. 'Come with me.'

Scarcely able to believe her ears, Abbie allowed herself to be drawn away from the conflagration and into the darkness. Crane led her down a lane flanked on both sides by tall conifers. It was almost pitch black, but soon they reached a clearing, illuminated by the feeble light of the waning crescent moon.

She let out a tiny cry of relief when she saw Jenny huddled on the ground. Around her were less than a dozen undernourished children, smeared with soot and eyes glittering with terror. Abbie's heart sank when she realised that this ragged band of refugees were the only survivors.

Abbie pulled Jenny to her feet and enclosed her in a spine-crushing hug. Eventually, Jenny pulled away. 'I'm cool. I'm cool.'

They stood in silence for a moment, conveying their shock and relief without words.

'Jenny?'

A small girl, probably no more than twelve, stood in the middle of the group. She was a mere slip of a thing, but in her eyes, Abbie saw an indomitable strength. Her gaze was so direct that it was almost intimidating. It took a moment to realise that what was so unsettling was that the girl reminded Abbie of herself as a child.

'Jenny, my mom's dead, isn't she?'

She said this in a low voice, as if aware that the other children were listening. Jenny seemed frozen in grief, unable to give voice to the truth.

'I tried to help her, but it was too late,' she whispered. Despite her calm demeanour, the other children began to cry and wail for their mothers, the gravity of the situation sinking in.

'Come on,' Abbie said to Jenny, taking charge. 'We've got to get these kids to the hospital.'

Hours later in the archives, Jenny sat wrapped in a blanket, sipping milky coffee from Abbie's sleek machine. They had been released from the hospital a little after midnight. It had been a horrible scene, the cries of grieving friends and relatives punctuated by the intermittent cries of the children. Ichabod had gone home, presumably to seek comfort in the arms of his wife.

'What were you doing there, Jenny?'

'That little girl, Trudy? Her mother was a good friend of mine.'

She paused, and Abbie glimpsed the raw pain in her eyes. She placed a hand on her sister's wrist in a gesture of comfort and security. 'I'm so sorry, Jen.'

Jenny shook her head. 'She called me a couple of days ago – told me she had something crucial to defeating Henry. A weapon.'

Abbie's eyes widened. 'What kind of weapon?' she asked in hushed tones.

'Before Debbie could explain, everything starting going down. I saw her...' Jenny's voice cracked. 'She took a cyanide pill with Larroquette. But before she died, she made me promise to save the children. To save Trudy in particular.'

'Makes sense.'

'No, you don't understand. I didn't understand until after, when I saw Trudy heal one of the other kids. A little girl was convulsing on the ground – she was dying. Trudy put a hand on her and just... fixed her.'

Abbie struggled to make sense of her sister's words. 'So, what you're saying is...'

'Trudy is the weapon.'

Crane burst into the room before either of them had the chance to speak further. 'She's gone!'

'Trudy's gone?' Abbie leapt to her feet, her brain still reeling. 'What happened?'

'No.' Crane was near tears. 'It's Katrina. Katrina's gone.'

He clutched a note which Abbie prised from his numb fingers.

"Beloved Ichabod," she read aloud. "I beg you to forgive me for deceiving you. The web I wove all those years ago has haunted me in these blissful weeks we have spent together. The fault was mine, and I must atone for it in solitude. Our love was wrong from the start, an accused thing, born out of deception and half-truths. Henry will forever be a mark on my soul – my purgatory revivified. I beg you to forget me, though I cannot promise the same for you. Always, your Katrina."