GARRISON
The shelter is louderthan the others. Not chaotic—just full. Voices layered on top of voices. Shoes scraping against tile. The sound of the generators somewhere in the background. It’s alive in a way that feels almost overwhelming after everything we’ve seen.
I push the door open and step inside first, scanning automatically.
Habit. Training. Crowd density. Exit points. Potential hazards.
But it doesn’t take long for all of that to fade behind the only thing that matters right now— Finding them.
Willow stays close beside me. Not touching. But close enough that I can feel her there. I glance at her. She’s already searching.
Her eyes move quickly, scanning faces, rows of cots, clusters of people sitting together. Every time she pauses on someone for a fraction of a second too long, I can see the hope spark— And then die.
Again. And again. And again. My chest tightens.
“Okay,” I say quietly, keeping my voice steady. “We’ll start at that side. Work our way through.”
She nods, already moving before I even finish.
I follow.
We move through the rows slowly, deliberately.
“Excuse me,” Willow says, stopping near a woman sitting on a cot. “Have you seen a man—um—mid-fifties, dark hair, probably with a teenage girl? Her name’s?—”
The woman shakes her head apologetically.
“No, I’m sorry.”
Willow forces a small smile. “Thank you.”
We move on. Same question. Same answer. Over and over. Each time, her voice gets a little quieter. Each time, the hope in her eyes dims just a little more. I can feel it happening. Like watching something break in slow motion.
“Willow,” I say gently at one point, catching her arm just enough to slow her down.
She looks up at me, and the look on her face—It hits hard. Because she’s trying. Trying to hold it together. Trying not to fall apart in front of all these people.
“They have to be here,” she says, her voice tight. “This is the biggest shelter in the area. They said people were being brought here?—”
“I know,” I say softly.
“But what if they’re not?” she presses, her voice cracking just slightly. “What if we’re just—what if we’re wasting time?—”
“Hey.”
I step closer, lowering my voice.
“We’re not wasting time.”
Her eyes search mine, desperate.
“But what if?—”
“We don’t go there,” I say, firmer this time. “Not yet.”
My hand tightens slightly on her arm, grounding.
“We keep looking.”
