“Yes,” Priya said. “From you.”
At the cottage near Thompson’s Station, Megan opened the door before Rowan knocked twice. Her face was pale with worry, her hair tied loosely at the nape of her neck. Behind her, the boys slept in the crib beneath a soft yellow lamp.
“You found something,” she said.
Rowan could not speak at first.
Megan gripped the doorframe. “Is she alive?”
He nodded.
The sound Megan made was not a sob exactly. It was breath returning after a year underwater.
“She was placed with a family in Brentwood,” he said quickly. “Jonathan and Abigail Mercer. Priya thinks they may not know the truth.”
Megan pressed both hands to her mouth.
“She’s alive?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
Her knees buckled slightly, and Rowan reached out without thinking. He stopped before touching her.
Megan saw. Then she stepped forward and let him steady her by the elbow.
