Milo didn’t leave her mind that night. The earlier dream’s echo followed her into her shift the next morning, a steady rhythm she couldn’t unhear. She wondered if it was trying to tell her something.
By now, Lily had taken to drawing between naps. One afternoon, she handed Maya a sketch: herself, Milo, and a man running on a beach. “Who’s this?” Maya asked gently. “The man who runs with us,” Lily said matter-of-factly. “He wears red shoes.”