Then he saw Micah.
The boy was sitting on the living room floor clutching a throw pillow to his chest. His blond hair was flattened on one side. His face was dirty. And there was something in the stillness of his little body that terrified Rowan more than tears ever could.
Micah looked up and whispered, “I thought maybe you weren’t coming.”
Rowan crossed the room in two strides and dropped to his knees.
“I’m here,” he said, already searching the room. “Where’s your sister?”
Micah lifted one hand and pointed toward the couch.
Elsie lay curled beneath a blanket, her face somehow pale and flushed at once. Her lips were dry. Her breathing looked too shallow, too weak. Rowan pressed his hand to her forehead and felt a blast of heat so fierce it tightened his whole chest.
He lifted her instantly. Her head dropped against his shoulder with almost no resistance.
“We’re leaving now,” he said, forcing calm into his voice. “Micah, shoes on. Right now. No questions. Stay with me.”
Micah stood so fast he nearly stumbled.
