The boy stood about ten feet away, frozen in place.
His eyes were enormous, dark pools of shock and disbelief as he stared at the two unconscious men sprawled on the sidewalk. His chest hitched with shallow breaths, like he wasn’t sure it was safe to breathe yet.
I wiped blood from my chin with the back of my hand and forced my face into something gentle, something human. It probably came out crooked.
“Hey,” I said softly, voice rough. “It’s okay. It’s over now.”
He didn’t run.
Instead, he took a hesitant step toward me. Then another. Slowly, like he was approaching a wild animal that might bolt. He raised one small hand and reached out—careful, almost reverent.
His fingers brushed the bridge of my nose, right where blood still trickled.
They trembled.
His brow crumpled, guilt and fear swirling together in his eyes, as if he thought my injuries were his fault. As if saving him had cost too much.
I swallowed past the pain in my throat.
“It’s not your fault,” I said, enunciating clearly, gently, so he could read my lips if he needed to. “N-None of this is.”
He stared at me for a long moment.
Then he nodded once—small, shaky—but he didn’t pull his hand away.
The boy opened his mouth, lips moving, but no sound came out. Only a soft, frustrated exhale, like someone trying to breathe through a weight pressing on their chest.
My heart squeezed.
Mute?
Traumatized?
Or both?
I didn’t know. I just knew fear when I saw it—the wide, dark eyes, the way he clung to me as if I were the only anchor in a storm.
“Where are your parents?” I asked, crouching to his level despite the protest of my bruised back. Every movement reminded me of the hard fall earlier, the tearing of the satin, the pain radiating across my ribs. “I’ll take you to them. I promise.”
He blinked, hesitating, lips quivering.
There was something deeper in his eyes than fear—gratitude mixed with sorrow, maybe shame that he’d gotten himself into trouble, or the realization that he might have relied on a stranger to save him.
That trust weighed heavily on me.
Before I could ask anything more, my phone buzzed violently in the torn pocket of my ruined gown. I pulled it out, heart sinking when I saw the name flashing across the cracked screen.
Harris.
I hesitated for half a second, then answered.
His voice exploded through the hearing aid—sharp, furious, and far too loud for my still-sensitive ears. “I warned you not to keep me waiting, Elena!”
“I’m on my way. Please—just give me a minute.” I said quickly, forcing a tone of control over the chaos in my chest. “I promise I won’t keep you waiting any longer.” And before he could launch into a tirade, I hung up.
I looked back at the boy. His gaze was fixed on me, wide and vulnerable. “Sweetheart,” I said softly, kneeling again, “I’m supposed to get married today. At nine. I’m already late. But I can’t leave you here alone. Will you come with me? After thewedding, I swear I’ll help you find your parents. I won’t leave you.”
His nod was fast, almost frantic, as though the promise alone could tether him to something safe. Then, slowly, deliberately, he slipped his small hand into mine.
