Scarlett
The boy is on his knees.
Rhodes.
Twelve years old, maybe. Dressed in fine black clothes, but shaking so hard his shoulders tremble. His eyes are wide. Though it isn’t rebellion or arrogance that I see on his face, but fear. Real, crushing fear.
He looks up at the people he trusts most in the world.
His parents.
And they look through him like he’s already gone.
My heart hurts for him. I might not like Rhodes, but he is a child here. His chubby face carries innocence, and it gets harder to breathe when I watch his gaze flicker between my mother and the people behind her. His chest rises and falls. Panicked little bursts.
“Please,” young Rhodes whispers. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
My mother doesn’t blink even though she stands faced with a literal child as her enemy. H
