Two little boys were running around the cafe, creating chaos, and they paused in front of the group’s booth, eyeing Lyric and Roland’s hands. “Hey, Billy,” the younger one said, pulling on the older boy’s shirt as he looked up at him. “Those two boys are holding hands.” They had to be no older than five. But when Roland glared at them, the taller one stared back at him before dragging the younger boy back to their parents.
Lyric wanted to see who their parents were, so he watched them go back to a woman. The first thing he noticed was how dressed up she was, wearing a suit and in a cafe no less, her blonde hair clean and styled, but when she turned around, that was when the blood from Lyric’s face drained, and he froze.
She was smiling at them; she hadn’t smiled at him in years. And she
