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

place where Cinder had stood.

“Jonah.” Her voice broke on his name. She touched his cheek, then pulled her hand back when he flinched. “Please look at me.”

He tried. He really did. But words had gathered somewhere behind his ribs and locked themselves in place. The clarity he had felt in the dirt was already slipping, replaced by the familiar heaviness continue reading …