?Chapter 984:


    Elena replied evenly, each word measured but sharp beneath her tone, “And which side of your head heard me say I was defending the thief?”


    A flicker of disdain crossed N’s face. “You stopped Lucinda from calling the police. If that’s not siding with the thief, what is?”


    From N’s point of view, Elena was just scrambling to cover herself after being called out.


    Instead of replying, Elena shot N a mocking nce, then turned away and crouched beside the boy.


    The boy, Tucker Vasquez, refused to lift his head. He remained silent, his entire body tense, fighting hard against invisible chains. His frame was rail-thin, swallowed by a threadbare shirt and pants that didn’t reach his ankles. The cuffs rode high above battered sneakers, their toes nearly torn open.


    Elena’s eyes quietly traced the burns and bruises marring his skin—red welts on his calves, blistered marks on his wrists and neck. The signs were unmistakable. This boy had been hurt. Her voice dropped low and gentle. “You don’t have to be afraid. I’m not calling the police.” Something shifted in Tucker. His limbs stopped thrashing, his breathing slowed—relief barely visible, but there.


    N scoffed, eyes narrowing. Lucinda leaned closer with a whisper, “What is she doing now?”


    Everyone was thinking the same thing. What was Elena trying to prove? Why talk to the thief?


    Without flinching under their scrutiny, Elena kept her focus on Tucker. “Tell me the truth. Who made you do it?”


    N folded her arms, letting out a coldugh. “Miss Harper, it’s one thing to y saint. But let’s not pretend we didn’t all see that kid holding Lucinda’s ring.”


    Lucinda folded her arms with a self-satisfied nod. “Exactly. He was caught in the act. Who else could it be?”


    Saying nothing in return, Elena kept her full attention on Tucker.


    Maybe it was the calm in her voice, or maybe Tucker sensed she meant no harm—either way, he lifted his head slowly. His cheeks were sunken, his face painfully thin, and his wide, frightened eyes told more than any words.


    A skilled thief wouldn’t look like this. If he’d really made a living off stealing, he wouldn’t be stuck in clothes two sizes too small and shoes with open seams at the toes.


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    “I’m not here to hurt you,” Elena said gently, her tone steady. “Tell me who’s making you do this. I can help.”


    Tucker’s hands, grubby and trembling, gripped the hem of his shirt. He said nothing, but his lips parted slightly, unsure. His eyes flicked toward her, searching her face. Could he trust her? She’d protected him, stopped the shouting, and kept the police away. Something inside him, small but desperate, wanted to believe her.


    Just as he opened his mouth to answer, a voice burst through the crowd. “You little thief! Caught stealing again? I’ll beat the lesson into you this time!”


    A man in his forties barreled through the crowd, brandishing a thick wooden stick and ring daggers at Tucker.


    Instant panic surged through Tucker. He dropped to a crouch, arms raised to shield his head, shoulders shaking violently.


    Elena felt the tremble ripple through him—and her gaze turned sharp as steel.


    The man raised the stick to strike, but before itnded, Elena moved. Her foot connected with his wrist in one swift motion, sending the man to the ground, the weapon ttering from his grasp.


    Clutching his arm, the man howled in fury, “Crazy bitch! You dare kick me? I’ll beat you too—”


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