room—faint, familiar, almost impossible to place.
Evan Bennett.
A thin man in a navy suit, rain on his shoulders. A hospital hallway. A handshake that trembled not from fear, but exhaustion.
I looked at the children again.
Curly blond hair. Blue eyes.
Evan’s eyes had been blue.
My throat tightened before I understood why.
“Did your father work in finance?” I asked.
Owen lifted his head. “He fixed numbers.”
Lily nodded. “He said numbers tell stories if people stop lying to them.”
Marco returned then with two apple juices, a water bottle, a small carton of milk, crackers, bananas, and a paper bag that looked like he had bought half the nearest kiosk. He handed everything to me instead of the officers.
I opened the juice and passed it to Lily.
She did not take it.
I frowned slightly. “It’s okay.”
She looked at Owen.
He whispered, “We’re supposed to
