Chapter 3 - Crossing the FloorI walked away from the service station, my footsteps silent against the thick carpet.
Instantly, every single guard at Marcus Blackwood’s table stiffened. Four right hands slid beneath tailored jackets, resting on the grips of concealed firearms. Across the room, diners held their breath, watching the foolish waitress march straight into the lion's den.
I didn't look at the guards. I didn't look at Victor, or the terrified politicians watching from the perimeter. My eyes were fixed entirely on the little girl at the center of the storm.
I knelt down beside Lily’s chair, bringing myself down to her eye level.
I made sure my hands were positioned clearly in front of her chest, catching the warm overhead light. And slowly, carefully, I moved my fingers, forming the signs:
It's okay. It's only water. You are safe.
Lily’s breath caught. Her eyes widened, tracking my hands with a mixture of shock and profound disbelief. For the first time since the tragedy three years ago, someone was speaking to her in the only language her soul truly understood.
She stared at my fingers, her lower lip trembling. Then, with shaking hands, she signed back:
You know?
I nodded softly, offering a reassuring smile.
I know.
My name is Hannah.
May you like
I spelled it out slowly for her, letter by letter: H-A-N-N-A-H.
The suffocating fear melted away from Lily’s face, replaced by a radiant, fragile light. She reached out, her small fingers gently touching my wrist, as if she needed physical proof that I was real—that someone was finally seeing her.
