“Walk with me,” he said then, eyes still glinting. “You’ve tortured me enough.” But he didn’t look like a tortured man. He looked and laughed exactly like the boy of twelve I remembered. He took my hand and pulled me through the rivulets of people. By the tapped barrels along the wall, I spied Tess Colson watching her son with a curious expression. She marked his course with a smile far gentler than I thought her capable.
