destroyed the source.
But there was nothing to destroy now.
There was no man standing between my children and tomorrow.
There was only their own blood.
Later that evening, Jonah opened his eyes.
“Dad?”
I moved immediately to his bedside.
“I’m here.”
His voice was so weak I had to bend close.
“Did you bring my robot?”
I swallowed.
The robot was an ugly metal toy he had carried everywhere since his fourth birthday.
One arm had been missing for six months.
Genevieve had bought it for him at a museum gift shop.
“It’s at home.”
“You forgot.”
“I’ll bring it tomorrow.”
He considered that.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Blythe stirred beside him.
The doctors had moved their beds together because neither child slept well when separated.
Her thin fingers searched beneath the blanket until I took her hand.
“Daddy?”
“Right here.”
She stared at me with Genevieve’s eyes.
Same gray blue
