{ Avina }
The tone of someone extracting information, not asking a question. His jaw remained set, his posture controlled, but there was something in the way he held himself—a tension in his shoulders, a sharpness in his gaze—that made the question feel heavier than it should. Like my answer mattered in a way I couldn’t understand.
“I-I’m…” My voice broke into a sob. Tears streamed down my face, blurring his features. I couldn’t form the words. Couldn’t explain. My hands trembled where they pressed against the boy’s shoulders, holding him close.
“Dutton…” A whisper cut through the chaos. I looked down. The boy’s eyes fluttered open. His voice came out hoarse, barely a whisper. “How… how long were you tracking us?”
Dutton.
The name echoed in my chest, in the hollow spaces of my memory,
