She walked to me without hesitation, touched my beard, traced the scar above my eyebrow, and smiled.
“You look exactly like you sound,” she sobbed. “You look like safety.”
I broke.
When I finally pulled myself together enough to look around, the boy was stepping back, already fading into the background like he never expected to be thanked.
“Wait,” I croaked.
He stopped.
“What’s your name?”
“Miles,” he said softly.
I pressed every dollar I had into his hand. He tried to refuse. I closed his fingers around it.
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