The airport kept breathing around us—wheels clicking against tile, announcements echoing through the ceiling speakers, a baby crying somewhere near a coffee stand. People passed with the dull hurry of travelers who had their own destinations, their own problems, their own lives.
And beside me, Lily held my hand like she was afraid the world might tilt if she let go.
Her palm was so small it barely filled mine.
Owen watched me carefully from behind his stuffed bear. He had the look of a child who had already learned to measure adults by their faces before believing their words.
“Is she coming back?” he asked.
I looked at him.
There were answers that felt kind.
There were answers that sounded gentle.
And then there was the truth.
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I’m going to make sure you’re safe while we find out.”
Owen’s eyes dropped to the floor.
Lily whispered, “She said we had to sit still.”
“How long ago did she say that?”
“She said until someone came,” Owen answered, his voice small but steady.
“Who was supposed to come?”
He shrugged.
Lily’s fingers tightened around mine. “Nobody.”
Marco stepped closer, his expression tight. He had worked for me eight years. I had seen him face armed men without blinking, negotiate deals with people twice his size, and drive through Chicago snowstorms as if ice were no more serious than rain.
