“Listen,” she said. “Me understand how hard it is to leave behind what you know. But it is time.” She squeezed his hand tighter, and he looked back to her. “You can stop running now.” The smooth skin on his face quivered, holding back the tears that, aged ten, he had never had the chance to shed. Rachel could see his mother in his eyes—a faint outline, a distant memory with her features blurred—and she knew that he could see a piece of his mother in her, too. Together, these echoes of his mother were enough. They released him from the decades-old command.
