177 I only wanted to save the boy and disappear.

The park was suddenly very loud, but to me, it felt like the entire world had been plunged underwater.

The wind kept howling, rattling the skeleton-like branches of the oak trees above us. Jennifer stood frozen, her perfect, expensive leather boots sinking slightly into the cold, damp mud. The bright, flashing blue and red lights from the police cruisers washed over her face, turning her pale skin a sickly violet, then a warning red.

For a long moment, nobody breathed.

"Ethan," Jennifer laughed, a high-pitched, fluttering sound that reminded me of a trapped bird. She took a step forward, her hands half-raised, fingers sparkling with diamonds. "Sweetheart, you’re confused. You had a terrible fall, and the cold... the cold does things to a child's mind. Maxwell, surely you don't believe—"

"Do not step any closer to my son," Maxwell Blackwood said.

His voice didn't rise. He didn't scream. But there was a terrifying, heavy weight in his tone that made even the police officers tense up. He remained on one knee, his arms wrapped tightly around Ethan, shielding the boy’s shivering body with his own. But his head was turned, his dark eyes locked onto Jennifer with a cold, predatory focus.

"Maxwell, please! I love him!" Jennifer’s voice cracked, the veneer of the elegant, high-society fiancée rapidly peeling away. "I went to get help! My phone died, and I got lost in the paths. I’ve been looking for him for hours!"

"You're lying," Ethan whispered against his father’s chest. His small hand, still clutching mine with a desperate, white-knuckled grip, trembled violently. "She took my crutches, Dad. She threw them down the drain. She told me... she told me nobody wanted a broken boy anyway. She said you'd have a new baby soon."

A collective gasp seemed to ripple through the paramedics who had just approached.

I looked at the storm drain a few feet away. I knew these drains. On the streets, they were places where lost pennies went, places where rats nested. I stepped back, my bare ankles freezing in the gaps of my oversized shoes, and pointed a dirty finger toward the iron grate.

"They're down there," I said, my voice barely louder than the wind. "I saw them when I found him. They're wedged in the pipe."

One of the police officers, a tall man with a stern face and a thick mustache, walked over to the drain. He shone a powerful tactical flashlight down into the darkness. After a second, he looked back at Maxwell, his face grim.

"He's right, sir. There’s a pair of pediatric aluminum crutches wedged about four feet down. Someone had to have pushed them in hard to get them past the grate."

Jennifer stumbled backward. "No... that’s not... someone else must have done that! A mugger! Yes, a mugger attacked us!"

"Jennifer," Maxwell said, slowly rising to his feet. He looked like a giant in the flashing police lights, his tailored suit shadowed by the massive cashmere coat he had wrapped around my shoulders. "You told me on the phone at three o'clock this afternoon that you and Ethan were at the museum. You said he was tired and napping in the back of the car."

"I... I lied because I didn't want you to worry! We came to the park afterward—"

"The museum has been closed all day for private renovations," Maxwell interrupted, his voice dropping to a whisper that cut through the wind like a razor. "I know this because my foundation owns the building."

The silence that followed was absolute.

Jennifer’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. She looked around wildly, searching for an escape, but the two state troopers had already stepped into her path. Their hands were resting casually, but firmly, on their utility belts.

"Jennifer Vance," the lead officer said, stepping forward with a pair of steel handcuffs. "You are under arrest for attempted child abandonment, reckless endangerment, and felony assault on a minor."

"This is absurd! Do you know who my father is?" she shrieked as the officer grabbed her wrist, pulling her arms behind her back. The cold metal clicked shut around her delicate wrists. "Maxwell, tell them! Tell them to stop! You’re ruining my life over the word of a crippled kid and a filthy street rat!"

When she called me a street rat, Maxwell’s eyes flashed with a dangerous, quiet fire. He didn't look at her again. He turned his back, kneeling once more beside Ethan and me.

The paramedics rushed in, unfolding a warm, thick gurney.

"Sir, we need to get the boy to the hospital immediately," the lead medic said. "His body temperature is dangerously low. He has signs of moderate hypothermia."

They began to lift Ethan onto the gurney. But as they did, Ethan’s grip on my hand didn't loosen. He pulled, his small face twisting in absolute panic.

"No! Lily!" he cried out, his voice cracking with fear. "Don't leave her! Dad, she’s cold too! She gave me her coat!"

The paramedics looked at me, then at Maxwell. I stepped back, suddenly terrified. The flashing lights, the police officers, the handcuffs—it was too much. The street had taught me that when the police arrived, kids like me got locked in small rooms with high windows. They sent us to places with iron beds and cold food, places where people looked at you like you were a broken toy.

"I have to go," I whispered, pulling my hand away from Ethan's. I let the expensive cashmere coat slip from my shoulders, letting it fall into the dirt. "I'm fine. I know a warm grate near the library."

I turned to run into the dark, tangled paths of the park.

"Lily, wait!" Maxwell’s voice called out.

I didn't stop. I ran. My shoes, two sizes too big, slapped against the freezing pavement. But before I could reach the safety of the dark bushes, a large, warm hand gently caught my shoulder.

I flinched, curling into a ball on the ground, protecting my head with my arms. Please don't hit me, I thought. Please.

But the blow never came.

Instead, the warm hand remained gentle. Maxwell knelt in the dirt beside me, completely ignoring the mud staining his expensive trousers. He picked up his cashmere coat from the ground, shook off the dirt, and gently draped it back over my trembling shoulders.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Lily," he said, his voice softer than I thought a man’s voice could ever be. "And I'm not going to let anyone else hurt you either. My son is alive because of you. You are coming with us."

I looked into his eyes. They were dark, but they didn't have the cold, calculating look of the adults who usually tried to grab me. There was a deep, aching sadness in them, but also a promise.