Page 84 of Fallen Heir
The two children.
The little one was tugging at her sister’s shirt, big round eyes darting between the others in the van. She was so small—maybe three, with matted curls and scraped knees. The older girl glanced down at her, offering a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“It’ll be okay,” she whispered, wrapping her arms tighter around the child. “I’ll keep you safe.”
She couldn’t have been more than seven or eight herself. But her words came out with a quiet strength that made my chest ache.
These weren’t just victims. These were babies.
Starving. Scared. But strong in ways I didn’t have words for.
And despite my body screaming in protest—my muscles locking, my skin bruised and raw, every inch of me aching like I’d been dragged through hell—I reached for them.
My hands shook. My arms barely moved. But I extended them anyway.
“Girls,” I whispered, my voice cracking on the word. “Come here. Sit by me.”
They hesitated. Looked around, unsure.
But I was all they had.
Slowly, they crawled toward me, eyes wide, knees trembling. And when they got close enough, I pulled them in—gently, carefully, like they were made of glass.
I held them. Tight. Like they were the only real thing left in the world. Because in that moment, I wasn’t their protector. I wasn’t their savior. I was just the only thing between them and the dark.
And somehow… they were also the only things keeping me from falling into it.
Their bodies were so small against mine.
I could feel the older girl's bones trembling through the thin fabric of her clothes, her back shivering against my chest. Not from the cold—but from fear. The kind that settles deep and doesn’t let go.
Still, she clung tighter to her sister. Like no matter how scared she was, she’d decided she wouldn’t let anything happen to the little one. There was something fierce about it—something that made my throat tighten.
“What’s your name?” I asked, my voice low, careful.
She hesitated. Just for a second.
Then: “Nia,” she whispered. “And this is Kai.”
Nia. Kai.
Beautiful. Brave.
“I’m Savannah,” I told them, forcing my voice to be steady. “You’re safe with me.”
Nia didn’t say anything, but she nodded once, slow and sure, like she wanted to believe me. Like sheneededto.
And then—quietly, carefully—the others in the van began to shift.
They inched closer. One by one. A hand brushing mine. A boy curling his knees up beside me. Another small girl reaching for my free arm. They didn’t say anything.
They didn’t need to.
They were coming closer because they wanted comfort. Because they needed someone—anyone—to stand between them and whatever waited on the other side of those doors.
I would be that someone.
The van began to slow. The hum of the engine dropped into a low groan, the tires crunching over gravel or dirt. My muscles tensed.
