“Let me see that arm,” Trent said to Dutch.
Dutch waved him off. “Had worse. We can deal with it later.”
“You’re bleeding pretty good.”
“And I said later.” Dutch’s tone left no room for argument. He shifted his grip on the rifle, his jaw set. “Let’s move before more of them show up.”
I sank to the floor with Sophia still clutched against my chest, my hands shaking so badly I could barely keep my grip on her. The adrenaline crash hit hard, leaving me dizzy and nauseated as reality settled in. We’d almost lost her. The scissors had been against her throat, metal pressed to skin, a fraction of pressure away from unthinkable damage.
“Let me see you, sweet pea,” I whispered, gently trying to create space between us so I could check her for injuries. My fingers trembled against her shoulders as I eased her back.
Sophia resisted, clinging with surprising strength, her small fingers digging into my shoulders. “No, Mommy, no,” she sobbed, her face still buried against my neck. Her tears felt hot against my skin, her whole body shuddering with each gasping breath.
“I just need to make sure you’re okay,” I murmured into her hair, which smelled of the strawberry shampoo from last night’s bath. A lifetime ago. “I’m not letting you go. I promise.”
Slowly, she allowed me to create a few inches of space between us, enough to run my hands over her arms, her back, to tilt her tear-streaked face toward me. No cuts. No bruises. Physically, at least, she was unharmed. The relief made me lightheaded.
Her eyes were swollen from crying, her cheeks blotchy red. The butterfly pin on her sweater had come loose, hanging by a single clasp. I fixed it with trembling fingers, this small, normal act a lifeline to cling to in the chaos.
“You’re okay,” I kept saying, though I wasn’t sure if I was reassuring her or myself. “You’re safe now.”
From the corner of my eye, I saw Trent approaching cautiously. He’d wiped the blood from his scratched cheek, but the marks still stood out angry and red against his skin. He moved slowly, like someone approaching a frightened animal, and lowered himself to crouch beside us. His left arm hung closer to his body than the right, protective. His face had lost that cold, combat focus, replaced by something raw and exposed that I’d rarely seen from him.
“Hey, bunny,” he said softly.
Sophia turned her head at the sound of his voice, still clinging to me but now looking at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. “I knew you’d come back. I told Mommy you would.”
I met Trent’s eyes over her head, saw the flash of guilt there, the unspoken acknowledgment of his six-month absence. But there was something else too—a fierce protectiveness that matched what I felt for my daughter.
He reached out with his right hand, settling it gently on Sophia’s back. It looked almost comically large against her small frame, but there was nothing but tenderness in the touch. “I’m sorry I took so long.”
Sophia reached out one small hand, patting his scratched cheek with surprising gentleness. “Ms. Beth hurt you.”
“It wasn’t really Ms. Beth,” he said. “She’s sick right now. Like when you have a fever and don’t feel like yourself.”
This explanation seemed to satisfy Sophia, who nodded seriously before tucking herself back against my chest, her hand still stretched out to maintain contact with Trent.
For a moment, we sat like that, the three of us connected by touch, by trauma, by a shared past that had shaped us in ways I was only beginning to understand. In that brief pocket of quiet, we could have been a family reuniting after a long separation. The thought sent an unexpected ache through my chest.
Dutch’s voice broke the spell. “Not to rush the reunion, but we need to move.” He stood by the classroom door, peering down the hallway, rifle ready despite the blood still seeping through his sleeve. “Won’t be long before more of them show up.”
Reality crashed back. We were still in danger. The town was still full of people like Beth—people who moved with unnatural coordination and spoke with flat voices. People who might be coming for us right now.
“Can you walk, sweet pea?” I asked Sophia, brushing hair from her damp face.
She nodded, but when I tried to set her on her feet, her legs wobbled. She’d been so brave for so long, holding herself together through pure terror. Now that she felt safe, her body was giving out.
Trent solved the problem without hesitation, scooping her up with his right arm, though I caught the brief wince that crossed his face, gone before Sophia could notice.
“I’ve got her,” he said simply.
Sophia went willingly into his arms, her head resting against his shoulder like it belonged there. And maybe, in her mind, it did. During those dark days at Hope’s Embrace, Trent had been the only one besides me who’d shown her kindness. To a child that young, that created a bond that even six months of absence couldn’t break.
I rose on still-shaky legs, looking around the classroom that had been Sophia’s safe space until today. Bright artwork lined the walls, cheerful and innocent. Beth lay on the floor, stillsecured with zip ties, her eyes open but vacant. The scissors remained against the wall where they’d fallen, blood smeared across the metal blades. The juxtaposition made my stomach turn.
“What happens to everyone?” I asked. “To Beth, to all of them? Can they be... fixed?”
Trent shifted Sophia in his arms, adjusting her weight more to his right side, his face grim. “I don’t know. But first we have to keep you both safe.”
