Page 69 of Cowboy
"Going away in your head." She says it so matter-of-factly, with the simple wisdom of a child. "Dr. Sheila says when that happens, we should count colors."
I smile, grateful once again for the child psychologist who's been helping Saoirse process everything. "You're right. Let's count colors."
"I see yellow sunlight," she begins, pointing to the window.
"I see blue sky," I add, looking out at the remarkably clear Dublin day.
"I see a red pencil," she continues, holding it up.
We go back and forth until my mind settles, the paranoid thoughts receding like a tide pulling back from shore.
After breakfast, we bundle up—the September air has a bite to it—and head to the small park near Ciarán's house. It's a weekday morning, so the park is relatively empty; just a few mums with toddlers and an elderly man walking his dog.
I sit on a bench, watching Saoirse climb on the playground equipment. Her laughter is so clear to hear even across the park, and I'm in awe of her resilience. Children adapt, the therapist had told me. They heal faster than adults, especially with proper support. Still, I watch for signs—nightmares, regression, fear. So far, incredibly, she seems to be thriving.
My phone rings, and I see Travis' name on the screen. My stomach tightens instinctively. Travis never calls with good news.
"Hello?" I answer, keeping my eyes on Saoirse.
"Caoimhe." His voice is tight, controlled. "Where are you?"
"At the park with Saoirse. Why? What's wrong?"
A beat of silence. "Dylan's escaped."
The world tilts sharply. I grip the bench to steady myself, my knuckles turning white. "How?" The word comes out as barely more than a whisper.
"He had help from inside. We're still investigating, but it looks like one of our own facilitated it."
"How long?" I ask, forcing my voice to remain steady.
"About six hours ago. We only just discovered it. Ciarán's on his way to you now."
Six hours. My brother could be anywhere. I scan the park, suddenly seeing threats in every shadow, every stranger.
"Stay where you are," Travis continues. "Ciarán should be there any minute. We're putting together a security detail?—"
"No," I interrupt. "No security detail. No safe house. Not this time." Not after finding out The Agency helped him escape. "Just Ciarán."
Travis begins to protest, but I cut him off. "I trust Ciarán. Right now, he's the only one I trust."
After a moment, he sighs. "Understood. But be careful, Caoimhe. Dylan's smart. He'll know to be careful."
"I know. Thank you for the warning."
I hang up and immediately scan the park again, this time with greater urgency. Saoirse is still playing, blissfully unaware. I stand, ready to call her over, when I see him.
Ciarán is walking briskly toward us from the park entrance. Relief washes over me like a wave, so strong it nearly brings me to my knees. I raise my hand to wave, to let him know we're here.
That's when I feel it—cold metal pressing against my lower back.
"Hello, sister dear."
Dylan's voice in my ear turns my blood to ice. I freeze, my hand still half-raised in greeting.
"Don't make a sound," he whispers. "Don't signal Ciarán. Or I'll put a bullet in both of you before he can reach us."
My mind races, calculating distances, options, risks. Ciarán is still too far away. Saoirse is out of reach. I'm trapped.
