“Before he walked into the Tide.”
The lullaby played.
“Wren.”
The air in the room changed. He felt the old itch in his fingers—the urge to reach out, to find the crack in her armor and pour light inside. He clenched his fists. “That was another life.”
He saw something waiting to be mended.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
She placed the music box on the counter. It was old, pre-Collapse craftsmanship, with tiny gears visible through a crack in the lacquered wood. “My brother gave me this. Before.” “Before he walked into the Tide
She picked up the box, but didn’t leave. “You used to be a Hoper.”