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.”
“Wren.”
The lullaby played.
Wren left with the box in her pocket and the pin hidden beneath her collar. Logan watched her go, then turned back to his workbench. The unicorn still lay in pieces. But for the first time in seven years, he didn’t see broken parts. The air in the room changed
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.” The air in the room changed