He’d heard desperation before. Too many times to count.
But because of the tone.
It wasn’t rehearsed. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t beg in the way people often did when they had nothing left to lose.
It sounded… fragile.
Like if he ignored it, it might simply disappear.
Slowly, he turned.
At the gate stood a girl—thin, exhausted, barely standing straight. Her oversized jacket hung off her shoulders, sleeves too long, fabric worn and faded. Dirt clung to her shoes. Her hair was tied back hastily, strands falling loose across her face.
On her back, wrapped in an old blanket, was a baby.
Too still.
Too quiet.
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