Not a cat. Not the wind.
My heart slammed against my ribs. I dropped the towel and rushed to the window overlooking the small park across the street.
Under the dull orange glow of the streetlight, on the closest bench, I saw Noah.
He was sitting cross-legged, boots tucked beneath him, his jacket open. His bright hair burned against the darkness.
Cradled in his arms was something impossibly small, wrapped in a thin, threadbare blanket. He was hunched over it, shielding it with his entire body.
My stomach dropped.
I grabbed the nearest coat, shoved my bare feet into shoes, and flew down the stairs.
The cold slapped me as I sprinted across the street.
Continue reading…
