Marked by Creed

Chapter One Hundred Seventeen: The Quiet Between Storms

-----Morgan’s POV-----

Luca was finally asleep.

Barely.

Morgan sat with him cradled in her arms, his tiny fingers curled into her shirt as his chest rose and fell in uneven patterns. Every little noise made him flinch. Every sudden voice, every tightened breath from Helen or Lily, sent a ripple through him like even the baby could feel the panic saturating the room.

Morgan didn’t let him go.

Helen sat beside her on the couch, eyes vacant, her hands twisted in the fabric of her sundress like she needed something to hold on to.

Lily hadn’t said a word in over an hour. She was curled up in the oversized armchair in the corner, knees tucked, eyes glassy. Her small body looked even smaller wrapped in the throw blanket Axton had draped over the furniture on the first night they arrived.

Morgan hated silence.

She especially hated this kind.

“I used to braid my mom’s hair,” she said suddenly, soft and light, like a breeze in the tension. “When I was Lily’s age. She had long, thick hair. Always complained about it. Said I pulled too hard.”

Helen blinked. Slowly turned her head.

Morgan offered a small smile.

“Want me to braid yours?”

Helen let out a broken laugh. It was raw and hollow and wet with tears.

“You’re insane.”

Morgan shrugged. “Keeps me from falling apart.”

Helen’s lips trembled. She turned back toward the window.

The sea outside looked like oil. Thick. Black. Endless.

Morgan reached over, gently placed Luca in the bassinet beside the couch, and walked toward Lily.

“Hey, lovebug,” she said, kneeling. “Want to help me find a cartoon?”

Lily blinked. Her chin wobbled.

Then she nodded.

Morgan turned on the TV and found a show with loud colors and goofy voices. Something cheerful. Something that didn’t belong in this room filled with dread.

She sat back on the couch and pulled her phone from her pocket.

A new message lit up her screen.

It was from Rourke:

Possible sighting. Little girl. Pink dress. Pulled into a black SUV near the marina. Working to confirm.

Morgan’s breath hitched.

She looked at Helen.

“There’s a lead,” she said softly. “Rourke might’ve found something.”

Helen sat up straighter. “Is it her?”

Morgan’s thumbs moved fast.

Confirmation? she sent.

The response took minutes.

Too far away for facial ID. Didn’t get plates. Could be anyone.

Helen stood, hands shaking. “Morgan…?”

Morgan looked up.

“It’s not confirmed.”

Helen's face twisted. The fragile glimmer of hope crumbled in seconds.

“No,” she whispered, sitting back down like her legs couldn’t carry her anymore. “No. I thought—”

Morgan was already beside her.

Helen dropped her head into her hands, shoulders trembling with silent sobs.

“I’m sorry,” Morgan said, arms wrapping around her. “We’ll get her. I swear it.”

Lily looked away from the TV.

Even Luca stirred.

Morgan squeezed Helen tighter.

And this time, she said it like a war drum.

“We’ll get her back. No matter what.”