“I understand.”
He watches me for a second longer, like he wants to say something else. But there’s nothing to fix. Not right now.
The light changes. He turns his attention back to the road, his hands gripping the wheel a little tighter than before. We drive in silence again.
This time, it’s different. Not just heavy—But aching.
After a few minutes, a large building comes into view ahead, surrounded by emergency vehicles and people moving in and out. Another shelter. Garrison slows the SUV, pulling into the crowded lot.
“We’ll check here,” he says, his voice back to steady, controlled.
Professional. Like he’s putting the wall back up. I nod, even though my chest still feels tight.
“Yeah.”
He parks, cutting the engine. For a second, neither of us moves. Then he reaches for the door. And just like that—It’s gone. Replaced by reality and the search and a million other things that matter more.
I follow him out of the car, my heart still caught somewhere between what I want—And what we can never have.
CHAPTER
FIVE
GARRISON
We’ve checked three shelters.Names on lists. Faces in crowds. Volunteers shaking their heads with sympathetic looks that don’t mean anything exceptnot here.
Not here. Not yet.
I glance over at Willow as we walk back toward the SUV, the parking lot lit by harsh floodlights and flashing emergency vehicles. She’s quieter now. Too quiet.
Her shoulders are tense, her arms wrapped around herself like she’s holding something in. Fear. Hope that’s starting to crack.
My jaw tightens. I hate this part. The waiting. The not knowing.
“We’ll keep looking,” I say as I open the passenger door for her.
She nods, but it’s automatic. Not real.
“I know,” she murmurs.
She climbs in without meeting my eyes. I close the door gently, circling around to the driver’s side, my mind already working through options. It’s getting late. She needs rest even if she won’t admit it. I start the engine, pulling out of the lot, the road ahead lit only by the headlights cutting through the dark.
“There’s another shelter about twenty minutes out,” she says quietly, like she’s trying to convince herself to keep going.
“We’ll check it tomorrow,” I reply.
She turns to me, something sharp in her eyes. “What if they’re there now?”
My grip tightens slightly on the wheel.
“They could be,” I admit. “Or they could be at one we already checked. Or somewhere else entirely.”
Her lips press together.
“That’s not helpful.”
“No,” I say.
