The night is cold, but Nana feels nothing.
Her heart is hollow, a vast emptiness stretching inside her chest. She sits in silence on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall, eyes red and swollen. The weight of the night presses down on her. The packhouse is silent, too silent, except for the occasional muffled sob escaping her lips.
Lowell has gone out again with the search party.
She knows he’s doing everything he can. She knows he won’t rest until he finds their child.
But none of that soothes her.
Her baby.
Her little boy.
Taken.
Her body trembles. The guilt is crushing.
I should have protected him. I should have felt something. Why didn’t I feel anything?
Felicia enters quietly, her steps light, hesitant. She holds a cup of tea, but even she knows Nana won’t drink it.
“Plea
