“Be quiet, Emily,” I whispered, my pulse hammering. “Someone or something is out there.”
We crouched low in the water, our eyes sweeping the forest. The horses stood motionless in the stream, ears flicking, sensing the tension.
If we needed to run, we could reach them in seconds.
Then—movement. A small figure peeked out from behind a tree.
A child. A tiny girl.
“Oh!” I breathed, lowering my guard. “I didn’t think to look for survivors.” Without waiting for Emily’s input, I rose and started toward the trees.
“Wait, Olivia! What if it’s a trap?” Emily hissed, scurrying behind me.
I ignored her and kept moving.
The child ducked behind the tree as we approached.
“Sweetie,” I called gently, “we won’t hurt you. We’re here to help.”
I stepped around the trunk and found her crouching near a small bush, her tiny frame half-hidden in the undergrowth.
“Honest,” I said, extending my hand. “Emily and I just want to help.”
The little girl hesitated before standing. She took a few tentative steps toward me, her pale face unreadable, hovering between fear and sorrow. Then she lifted her gaze, and my breath hitched.
Her eyes.
Huge, dark, and achingly familiar.
I staggered back. Those were Roman’s eyes.
My pulse pounded as I took in the rest of her features—dark, tousled hair, child-sized Patrician cheekbones, a jawline too refined for a child her age. She looked like she could be his child.
No. That was impossible.
I swallowed hard, my voice barely above a whisper. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
The little girl ducked her head, peering at me through lashes impossibly long for someone so young.
“I’m Olivia,” I said, my throat tight. “And this is Emily. Can you tell me your name?”
She hesitated before speaking, her voice high and lilting. “I’m Rosie.”
Rosie.
My stomach twisted.
“What a beautiful name,” I murmured, crouching closer. “How old are you, Rosie?”
She held up five fingers.
Five.
I felt the ground shift beneath me. My mind whirled.
“You’re five,” I echoed. “Where are your parents?”
Rosie’s chin trembled. She lifted a chubby hand and pointed toward the stream, her little voice barely above a whisper.
