“I need your help,” he said, brow furrowed. “What’s noted?”
“Nothing,” she croaked, rubbing her eyes. “What’s going on?”
“I can’t find Emma.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s not in her room. She’s not at Marlene’s. Not out in the barn.”
Honey glanced toward the window where a branch tapped against the glass. The sky was dark and stormy.
Honey was already moving. She shoved off the blankets and sprang out of bed. “When did you last see her?”
“I tucked them in around nine.” He glanced at her clock. “About three hours ago. She seemed a little off, so I went in to check on her, and she wasn’t in bed.” Ethan’s eyes were wide and frantic like he couldn’t believe what he was saying out loud. “I was hoping she was in here talking with you.”
Honey grabbed the first sweater she could find—inside out, didn’t matter—and yanked it over her head. Then, she jammed her feet into her sneakers, not even bothering with socks.
“Okay,” she said, trying to sound steady even as her mind whirled. “We’ll find her.”
They moved through the house to the backdoor, still standing ajar.
She grabbed a flashlight and registered the sudden chill as she burst onto the porch.
Wind whipped her hair into her face. Rain fell in sheets, heavy and slanting sideways. The porch light flickered as thunder cracked. Somewhere off in the dark, the distant whine of a scared goat cut through the roar of the wind.
Honey’s brain kicked into overdrive. “We need a plan.” She needed to map it out, assign sectors, maximize their efficiency. She turned back, rushing to the mudroom, sloshing through a puddle that had already formed just inside the door. She grabbed the clipboard off the wall, tore off a page, groped for a pen?—
“What are you doing?” Ethan’s voice sliced through the storm. He was already halfway to the barn, wind whipping his soaked shirt against his body.
“We need to search in a grid,” she yelled back. “If we split the property?—”
“We don’t need a damn clipboard, Honey!” he shouted. “We need to find my kid! If she’s not with you, she’s probably with the damn goat.”
“Emma!” he screamed, already sprinting across the yard, flashlight beam slicing through the rain.
She froze, water dripping from her chin.
Her systems weren’t built for this. Her labels and lists, her tidy columns and color codes—none of that mattered right now. She dropped the clipboard, let it clatter to the wet floor, and ran back outside into the storm.
Honey was good at handling mess. Bringing order to chaos was her gift. But kids didn’t follow checklists. And last night, when she yelled at Emma, she hadn’t brought order. She’d brought fear.
By trying to protect her from seeing the government men and the weight of responsibility, Honey had causedthis. She meant to help, but all Emma saw was someone she’d trusted push her away. She had been carrying too much already, trying to fix things no child should have to fix.
Honey’s throat tightened.What if she ran because of me?
“Emma!” Ethan’s voice rang through the orchard, quieter and far away.
Guilt twisted her stomach. She should’ve talked to her. She should’ve seen the hurt on her face instead of brushing past it.
And then, through the storm and the rising panic, something clicked.
The well. Honey’s heart dropped to her stomach. Emma would have gone to the well.
Tightening her grip on the flashlight, she ran.
Her shoes squelched through the mud, and the storm roared around her as she tore across the yard and through the orchard. The wind slapped her cheeks. The rain soaked her.
As she ran, she pictured Emma reaching over to throw in a wish. Maybe leaning over too far. Honey’s heart punched against her ribs. The stones at the well’s edge would be slick with rain, the moss making it even slipperier. She saw it in vivid flashes: Emma’s feet slipping, her fingers scrambling for the rim, her body tipping into darkness.
