A chill breeze buffeted the treeless branches that lined the path in front of her. Trudy looked down and saw that she was clad only in those ugly pink pyjamas that Abbie had given her. Her feet were bare and she felt the cold penetrating into her very bones.

She did not recognise her surroundings. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that she was supposed to be in bed, asleep. At the same time, she could not shrug off the impression that she meant to be where she was. Against her wishes, was felt impelled forward by some unknown force.

An opening appeared in the trees ahead of her. Trudy found herself standing in a crumbling cemetery, amongst a host of cracked and forgotten tombstones. She was struck to the heart with fear; there was something so lonely and baleful about this terrible place.

She felt a sob rising in her throat; she had never felt so lonely, so abandoned and lost. She wanted her mother. More than anything else, she longed to be held, to be told that everything would be okay.

'Mom!' she cried out. 'Mom, I need you.'

She was pierced by the harrowing realisation that her mother was really and truly gone. Up until then she had held onto the hope that it had all been a mistake, that her mother would show up one day, completely unscathed, ready to bring her home again.

But there was no home, no family. The compound where she had lived was ashes, as were her friends.

In front of her, she saw the looming figure of an angel atop a stone plinth. Beneath the statue was a tablet with a name carved into it - the years of birth and death in chilling parentheses.

She could not read the name; it blurred before her eyes. Yet she knew it in her heart. She knew it because it was her own name.

Trudy opened her eyes, unable to stop shaking.

Crane paced the floor of the cabin, feeling his hackles rising. 'Lieutenant, I am simply suggesting that we regroup with Miss Jenny and reassess our options – that is all.'

Abbie stood before him, arms folded tightly, her eyes brimming with suspicion. 'A week ago, you were gung-ho about using Trudy to take down Henry.'

Crane sighed; this conversation was not going according to plan. He had summoned the Lieutenant to his apartment with the promise of coffee and fresh pastries, hoping to share his misgivings about Trudy. It didn't take long, however, for things to come to a head.

Abbie approached him with steely determination. He recognised the gait of a hunter, a hardened investigator determined to see past his evasions in order to get to the truth. 'Something happened to change your mind. Tell what it is, Crane, or so help me…'

Crane felt the cabin's wooden wall pressing against his back. He raised his hands, as if in surrender. 'I believe that Trudy may be only living witch left alive in Sleepy Hollow. Other than Katrina of course, wherever she may be.'

'A witch?'

Abbie's face was contorted into a curious expression. Crane felt his stomach drop; he had expected that she would be merely incredulous, but instead he saw pain in her eyes. The association with Katrina's betrayal was clearly as distressing for her as it was for him.

'It is not wishful thinking, believe me. The day you left Trudy in my care, she insisted on visiting the local clothing emporium. Whilst there, I saw her comforting a child in distress. I may seem innocuous, but the way she engrossed the child was unmistakeable. She was able to calm him in a manner that could only be a kind of mesmerism or spellcraft.'

He regarded Abbie steadily. 'Where would a child brought up in a religious compound find access to such knowledge?'

'You don't think…' She paused, thinking hard. 'Damn it, Crane. Me and Jenny weren't much older than Trudy when Moloch appeared to us. What if he's got to her already?'

Crane quickly closed the distance between them and gripped her shoulders. 'Do not even think that.'

She met his gaze determinedly. 'What kind of person am I, Crane? I actually considered using her to take down Henry. I'm supposed to protect her!'

'I understand, Lieutenant,' Crane said softly. 'She is a mere child, but she also possesses some extraordinary gifts. Neither one of us asked for this mission, but we have been tasked with it nonetheless. Perhaps Trudy has also been placed in our path, much as we found each other against all the odds. Perhaps she has a larger part to play in all this.'

Abbie looked at her partner for a moment, pondering his words. He seemed to have grasped onto this possibility with all the fervour of a convert. He had made an idol of his beloved Katrina and been left heartbroken and disenchanted. Now he was turning to another religion.

'She's a child, Crane. A child.' Abbie appealed to his instincts as a father. 'Promise me you won't risk her life, Crane. Promise you'll do everything you can to protect her.'

Crane looked at his partner. He had rarely seen such fear and desperation in her eyes. He was ready and willing to win the war against Moloch using all means necessary. Despite this, he could not forget the debt he owed Lieutenant Mills. After everything she had done for him, all the trials they had undergone together, he could not deny Abbie her wish. Honour demanded that he assent to her request.

'I promise I shall my hardest to guarantee her safety, Miss Mills. Nonetheless, if she is amenable, then I believe she should be allowed to join the struggle against Henry.'

There was a long moment of silence where Abbie weighed what Crane had said. Eventually, she nodded.

Jenny pulled her truck to the side of the road and peered out through the grimy window. The trailer park looked just as Micky the bartender had described it. It had the same run-down, grimy feel of the foster homes she had lived in as a child.

She climbed out, spotting a pre-teen boy lounging against the wire fence that enclosed the motor homes.

'Hey kid, you wanna earn five bucks?'

The scruffy, zoned-out youth stared back at her, shrugging impassively.

'This car still has all its tires and hubcaps intact when I get back, five dollars is all yours.'

Jenny walked along a line of identical trailers until she reached number 153. The front step was decorated with garden gnomes and potted plants like many of the others, but the plants had long since withered and the place had an abandoned air.

She rapped loudly at the door. After a few moments of silence, she took her trusty Swiss army knife from her jeans and began to jimmy the lock. She barely registered a change in the air temperature, a hint of movement.

'You wanna tell me what the hell you're doing here?'

Jenny felt both barrels of a shotgun pressing into the small of her back. 'I like to see a man's face before I answer questions.' She was surprised at now neat the comeback was; inside she was quaking.

Before she could take a breath, she was spun around and shoved into the door. A middle-aged man stood in front of her, hollow-eyed and breathing beer. He held the shotgun up to her face like he meant it.

'I'm here to see Katrina.'

'Never heard of her,' the man drawled. 'Beat it.'

'I know she's here.'

The man's trigger finger twitched. 'You got three seconds to start retreating, girlie.'

'There's a girl's life at stake.'

'Three… two… one…'

'Stop.'

Jenny looked up in the direction of the voice. It seemed to emit from within the trailer, soft like silk but as strong as iron. She was sure she saw the net curtain twitch.

'Thank you for your vigilance, David, but it's all right. Let her come in.'

The door opened a crack, and 'David' simultaneously lowered his gun. Swallowing in relief, Jenny opened the door and stepped inside.