“Alright,” I say, steady but lighter now. “Then let’s find them.”
She nods quickly, already turning back toward the crowd.
“Do you remember where you saw them?” I ask the volunteer.
The woman gestures toward the far side of the room. “They were sitting somewhere over there earlier. Near the back.”
“Thank you,” Willow says quickly, already moving.
I follow right behind her.
The energy in her has completely shifted. She’s faster now. More focused. Hope driving every step.
“Dad!” she calls out as we move deeper into the shelter, her voice cutting through the noise. “Emma!”
Heads turn. People glance over. But she doesn’t care. She keeps going.
“Dad!”
My chest tightens again—but this time, it’s different. Because now—there’s a chance. We weave through the crowd, scanning faces, moving faster now. And for the first time since this started—It feels like we’re not just searching. It feels like we’re close.
Like at any second—Everything might finally come back together.
Hope has us on a warpath. It sharpens everything—your eyes, your instincts, your focus. Every face we pass feels like it could bethe one. Every voice, every movement, every corner we turn—It all matters now.
“Dad!” Willow calls again, her voice cutting through the noise, stronger this time. “Emma!”
I stay right behind her, close enough to reach her if the crowd shifts too hard, close enough that if this goes sideways—I’ve got her.
A man sitting on a cot near the back glances up as we pass. His eyes linger on Willow for a second. Then he straightens.
“Hey—” he says, pointing. “You’re looking for someone?”
Willow turns instantly. “Yes—my dad. David Harper. And my sister—Emma. She’s fifteen.”
The man nods quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I saw them.”
Everything stops.
“Where?” Willow breathes.
“They were over there,” he says, pointing toward a cluster of cots near the far wall. “The girl had a blanket wrapped around her. Looked shaken up. The dad wouldn’t let go of her hand. She had her hair in braids…”
Willow’s entire body lights up.
“Oh my God,” she says, her voice breaking into something bright and breathless. “That’s them. That’sthem.”
She turns to me, eyes wide, shining—And then she’s in my arms.
No hesitation. No thought. She just throws herself into me, her arms wrapping tight around my shoulders like she needs to hold onto something real.
“They’re here,” she says, laughing and crying at the same time. “They’re here, Garrison. I knew it—I knew they’d be okay?—”
My arms come around her automatically, holding her close, feeling the way she’s shaking—not from fear this time, but from relief.
“I told you,” I murmur, my voice softer than I mean it to be. “We’d find them.”
She pulls back just enough to look at me, her hands still gripping my shirt.
