The Seattle–Vancouver flight landed under a slate‐gray sky that drizzled cold droplets against the cabin windows. Lynn peered through the mist as the plane taxied to the gate, clutching a single carry‑on bag emblazoned with a discreet “Waning Tide" tag—the only hint of the new identity forged between her and Milo. Beside her, the four‑year‑old sat strapped in his car seat, thumb in mouth, eyes wide with fatigue and excitement.
“Mommy, where are we going?" Milo asked in a soft voice.
Lynn forced a smile, brushing damp strands of hair from his forehead. “To a new home, sweetheart. Somewhere we can be safe and happy."
Milo nodded, his small shoulders slumped. “Will daddy find us?"
She paused, heart tightening. “No, baby. Daddy can't find us," she said quietly, resting a hand over the swel
