The crowd thought the boy in the wheelchair was helpless-until the wild mustang lowered his head to his boots

relaxed. Jonah sat in the passenger seat with his gloves in his lap. His palms were rough now, the calluses split in two places, dust ground so deeply into the lines of his hands that soap never fully got it out.

He thought about Sophie’s helmet pressed into Cinder’s neck. Marcus staring at the rope as if it had become a key. The veteran’s hand resting continue reading …