She was eight years old, terrified and thrilled, gripping his jacket so tightly that her fingers hurt. At the end of the street, she shouted into the wind and asked him to go faster.
Hawk had laughed then.
Standing beside her grave, he could no longer remember how laughter felt.
Then the boy spoke the impossible words.
Hawk stared down at the silver feather necklace in his palm. The metal was scratched, and one edge was darkened by dirt, but he recognized every detail.
He had purchased it from a small shop during a ride through Colorado. Emily loved feathers because she said they reminded her that freedom could be gentle.
She wore the necklace every day.
“Where did you get this?” Hawk asked.
Leo looked toward the cemetery gate before answering.
“A woman gave it to me.”
“What woman?”
“She said her name was Emily.”
Hope struck Hawk so violently that he almost became angry.
He rose to his full height, towering over the boy.
“Look at me.”
Leo did.
“This isn’t something you say because you want money.”
“I don’t want money.”
“It isn’t something you invent because you heard people talking about the funeral.”
“I didn’t.”
Hawk held the necklace between them. “Where did you see her?”
Leo’s voice dropped.
“Near the harbor.”
The boy explained that he sometimes slept inside abandoned buildings when the weather became too cold or wet. Three nights earlier, he hid behind stacked shipping crates inside an old warehouse near the river.
A dark van arrived shortly before midnight.
Several men opened the rear doors and forced frightened people into the building. Leo remained hidden beneath a torn tarp, afraid that even breathing too loudly might reveal him.