The name landed exactly where Garrett expected it to. Preston Ashworth.
He had been waiting for this. He just hadn’t known when it would come.
“Hey,” Garrett said softly, leaning forward just enough to catch her attention. “Look at me.”
She did.
“You’re safe,” he told her. “You hear me? Nobody’s taking you anywhere.”
She searched his face, as if weighing the truth of that promise. “You can’t promise that,” she said quietly. “Adults always say things they can’t promise.”
Garrett didn’t flinch. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
That seemed to settle something in her, though not completely. The fear didn’t vanish, but it loosened its grip just enough for her to breathe.
They ate in a quieter rhythm that morning. Sadi still talked, but her words carried an undercurrent now, a subtle tension that hadn’t been there before. Garrett listened, responded, smiled when appropriate—but his mind was already working ahead, mapping out possibilities, considering angles, thinking in the strategic way that had kept him alive in more situations than he cared to remember.
After she left for the bus, after her small figure disappeared into the crowd of children, Garrett didn’t linger. He finished his coffee in one long swallow, dropped cash on the table, and headed straight for the clubhouse.
