Mia sat next to her aunt, sorting out what they would need for the final push to rescue Uncle Trace.
Now that they had Martin with them, it felt like the end was in sight. That their goal of so long was finally almost within reach, and yet…
The young woman was profoundly distracted.
That filled her with guilt, alternating with elation, pricked with anxiety.
Ford had walked off with her father shortly before, and the last look he sent her felt like an apology. An apology for what, she could guess, based on the fact that he asked her father to go gather firewood with him.
Another bit of fear jabbed at her, but she suppressed it. It didn't last long anyway; the memory of Ford holding her, kissing her–
"Mia?" Anaisa's voice broke through into the reverie, startling Mia.
"Yes, Aunt Annie?" She tried to cover her distraction.
"Are you feeling alright?" The older woman tilted her head.
