Hailey

The drawing Evans brought home was sitting on my lap, the waxy texture of the crayons feeling like a brand against my skin. Three girls. Holding hands. "Find us." Every time I closed my eyes, I felt that sharp, jagged grief again. It was a physical pain, a needle pressing into the base of my skull. The house felt too big, too cold, and far too full of men with guns and secrets. I couldn't breathe in here anymore.

I picked up my phone with shaking fingers. I didn't call Evans. I didn't call Calix. I dialed a number in England that I had memorized years ago.

"Mabel?" I...