Page 21 of Where Broken Wings Fly

“She’s in the other room with Doc, Rachel and Miranda.”

“Who is she? This place isn’t on the map for a reason.”

“Ask Killian.” I jab a finger at the asshole himself. “He has all the damn answers.”

With a muttered curse, Killian repositions the kid on the sofa beneath a hand-knitted, multicoloured blanket and stands. Facing Lola, he runs a hand over his tired face.

“Trevor approached me in town earlier. He said some woman and her kid were asking for you. By name. I figured it was nothing, so I didn’t mention it.”

“By name?” Lola utters.

“First and last name. She knows exactly who you are.”

Processing this new information, Lola rests a weathered hand on the mantelpiece above the roaring fire. She looks deeply troubled, staring into the flames for a brief pause.

“What is it, Grams?” I dare to ask.

While Lola rules over Briar Valley with an iron fist, ensuring the survival of such a remote town, she has the biggest heart of everyone here. Worry and anxiety are written all over her face right now.

She turns to face us again. “Nothing. I need to see the woman for myself.”

“She’s unconscious,” Killian rumbles.

Marching over to the sofa, Lola crouches down to study the sleeping girl. She doesn’t look much like her supposed mother—a tiny dot, all blonde hair and bright-blue eyes, compared to her mother’s coal-black hair and sparkling hazel irises.

They do share the same slim, bird-like features. But more so, there’s a sense of palpable desperation that clings to them, silent but deadly. They look indisputably lost in the world. Lola seizes the girl’s small hand, freezing when she uncurls her little fingers.

“Look at this.”

Killian leans over to look, his face paling. “What the actual fuck?”

“That can’t be accidental, can it?”

“What is it?” I ask, straining for a peek.

Flattening the child’s hand in her own wrinkled palm, Lola lifts it to show us all the bloodied, scabbed-over mess that’s on display. Each of her fingertips have been carefully burned to remove all traces of her prints.

Albie curses up a storm, moving closer to check each fingertip in turn. “Hell of a job.”

Looking away with his golden-brown face turning white as a sheet, Ryder refuses to look. Out of us all, he has the weakest stomach. Killian mocked him for months when he decided to go vegetarian, unable to stand the thought of an animal suffering.

“You good, Ry?” I pat his shoulder.

He nods, taking a deep breath.

“Whoever these two are, they clearly don’t want to be found,” Albie surmises. “Someone did a damn good job of burning these off to avoid being identified.”

Lola places the kid’s hand down again, watching as she sucks her thumb into her mouth for comfort. She’s a cute little thing, even I’ll admit.

“Then we keep them safe until we can get answers,” Lola decides, still studying the girl.

“Why?” Killian cuts her off, hands raised in the air. “What if they bring trouble into town? We cannot take that risk.”

“We’re equipped to handle any bloody trouble,” she returns hotly. “I’m not casting them out without more information. You know that’s not how we work better than most.”

Killian’s face falls. “That isn’t fair.”

“If you don’t like my decision, you can leave. But it’s final.”

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