Molly
We spend the next hour near the old market road asking anyone who might have seen Lily.
Charles speaks to shop owners, security guards, street vendors, and even people passing by while I move from one doorway to another repeating the same question again and again. Each time someone shakes their head my chest tightens a little more. I keep imagining her walking alone with Snow inside her bag, trying to be brave while pretending she knows exactly where she is going.
Finally a woman standing outside a small café pauses when she hears us mention Lily.
“Yes,” she says slowly. “I think I saw her. A little girl with a bag. She stood over there for a while and then got into a cab.”
Charles turns immediately. “A cab? Did you hear where she was going?”
The woman shakes her head. “No. Sh
