As soon as the door crashed against the wall, the heavy atmosphere of the diner shattered. Whitney didn’t wait for a tactical assessment or a signal from Jason; she moved past everyone instantly. Her gaze locked onto the red-haired girl in the sunny yellow blouse, and before anyone could blink, she crossed the distance like a woman who had been holding her breath for six years and had finally been given oxygen.
This wasn't at all how Aurora had imagined their meeting. In the dark, quiet hours in her cave, she had pictured rejection, fear, or a cold interrogation about the blood on her hands. She hadn’t expected to be accepted, let alone cherished.
"My child," Whitney whispered into her hair, her voice thick with six years of unshed tears. "Thank you... thank you for staying alive."
