Chapter 24
Remedy
By noon, the photograph of the blue ribbon had been printed three times, enlarged twice, and pinned to the board in church beside the compound map.
It still proved nothing.
That did not stop Sunshine from staring at it as though determination alone might sharpen the blurred face.
I stood behind her with two coffees, one for me and one she would forget to drink unless I placed it directly in her hand.
“Take this.”
She accepted the cup without looking away from the photograph.
“Thank you.”
“You need food too.”
“I ate.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
“That was five hours ago.”
She finally glanced at me.
“You sound like Bishop.”
“That is deeply insulting.”
“It was meant kindly.”
“Worse.”
A faint smile touched her mouth, then disappeared as she looked back at the board.
Cipher had spent the morning gathering everything he could without risking discovery. Thermal images suggested between fifty and seventy people lived behind the fences. At least eighteen appeared to be children.
No one knew whether the girl with the ribbon was Grace.
Sunshine had not asked anyone to pretend otherwise.
That was one of the things I loved about her.
She hoped fiercely without demanding that hope become fact.
Toxic entered church carrying a folder.
“New images.”
The room quieted.
Cipher followed him and connected his laptop to the screen.
The first photograph showed the eastern dormitory at dawn. Women stood in two lines outside the building. Several children waited near the covered walkway.
The second showed laundry.
Small shirts.
Plain dresses.
Blankets.
The third showed the windowless punishment building Sunshine had identified.
Two guards stood outside.
Her fingers tightened around the coffee cup.
Toxic looked at her.
“You still good?”
“No.”
He waited.
“But I can help.”
He nodded once.
“Then help.”
Cipher changed the image again.
“This was taken at eleven last night.”
A white van had stopped near the rear gate.
Three figures were visible beside it.
One appeared to be carrying a child.
Steel leaned forward.
“They moving people?”
“Could be,” Cipher said. “The van left forty minutes later.”
“Direction?” Irish asked.
“North.”
Knight studied the road map.
“If they begin moving children before we confirm the layout, we lose the window.”
Raze folded his arms.
“So we stop waiting.”
Toxic ignored him for the moment.
“What do we have?”
Cipher pointed toward the property.
“Two primary entrances. One service road behind the agricultural sheds. Cameras at the main gate and chapel. Likely armed guards, but no visible patrol beyond the fence.”
“And inside?” Gage asked.
“Unknown.”
Sunshine stepped closer to the screen.
“They will keep the children near the women during daylight.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Control. Children make women easier to manage.”
The room went still.
She continued.
“At night, the youngest children will probably sleep in the east dormitory. Older boys may be separated near the work buildings.”
Cipher marked both areas.
Toxic looked around the table.
“We prepare for extraction. No explosives near occupied buildings. No unnecessary gunfire. Medical team waits at the south road.”
Raze exhaled through his nose.
“I know how not to blow up children.”
Mace glanced at him.
“Always reassuring when you say it aloud.”
Toxic pointed toward both of them.
“Neither of you gets creative.”
That ended the argument.
Assignments followed quickly.
Knight and Irish would confirm the service road.
Cipher would disable cameras and communications.
Gage and Steel would take the dormitories.
Bishop would help move survivors toward transport.
I would remain with the medical team until the interior was secure.
Sunshine would stay at Harbor House.
She heard that part last.
“No.”
Toxic looked at her.
“It wasn’t a question.”
“I can identify routines.”
“You already did.”
“I can help frightened children.”
“After they arrive.”
Her jaw tightened.
“If Grace is there—”
“Then we bring her to you.”
The words were not cruel.
That made them harder to fight.
Sunshine looked toward me.
I did not rescue her from the answer.
She needed honesty, not agreement.
“Toxic is right,” I said.
Pain crossed her face.
“You too?”
“I need you safe.”
“I spent years being told safety meant staying where men put me.”
“That is not what this is.”
“It feels close.”
I stepped toward her.
“Then hear the difference. You are not being punished. You are not being silenced. We need someone at Harbor House who understands what these children may need when they arrive.”
“That could be anyone.”
“No.”
The answer came from Daisy near the door.
Everyone looked at her.
Daisy crossed her arms.
“It cannot be anyone.”
She looked directly at Sunshine.
“It needs to be someone who knows which doors should stay open, which children may hide food, which ones will panic if men enter too quickly, and which ones will not believe rescue is real until morning.”
Sunshine looked away.
Daisy softened.
“You matter here too.”
The tension left Sunshine slowly.
Not completely.
Enough.
“What if she asks for me?” Sunshine whispered.
“Then I bring you to her,” I said.
She met my eyes.
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
That promise belonged within my control.
“If Grace is there and asks for you, I will come get you.”
She nodded.
The decision settled.
Toxic closed the folder.
“We move tomorrow night if surveillance confirms the children remain on site.”
Not final.
Not victory.
One operation.
One door.
One group of people.
The room emptied into preparation.
Charlie found us outside an hour later.
She came running across the clubhouse yard with Mr. Pickles tucked beneath one arm and a red crayon in the other.
“Daddy!”
I crouched before she collided with me.
She wrapped both arms around my neck.
“You’re late.”
“For what?”
“Coloring.”
“I didn’t know I had an appointment.”
“You do.”
She grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the picnic table.
Sunshine sat there with several sheets of paper spread in front of her.
Charlie climbed onto the bench and pointed toward the empty chair beside them.
“Sit.”
I obeyed.
“What are we drawing?”
“A house.”
Sunshine had drawn the outline already.
Charlie had added several crooked windows and what appeared to be a purple dog on the roof.
“That dog seems unsafe,” I said.
“It’s not a dog.”
“What is it?”
“A dragon.”
“Much safer.”
Charlie nodded and handed me the red crayon.
“You make Daddy.”
“I am Daddy.”
“No. On paper.”
I drew a stick figure near the house.
Charlie frowned.
“Too little.”
I made the figure taller.
“Hair.”
I added hair.
“Motorcycle.”
“That seems difficult with one crayon.”
She pushed a black one toward me.
I added a motorcycle that looked more like a bent chair.
Charlie accepted it.
Then she handed Sunshine the yellow crayon.
“You make you.”
Sunshine drew herself beside Charlie’s figure.
Charlie watched carefully.
“Closer.”
Sunshine moved the figure nearer.
“Closer.”
She added a line connecting their hands.
Charlie smiled.
“There.”
I looked toward Sunshine.
Her eyes had filled.
Charlie did not notice.
She was busy drawing Mr. Pickles larger than everyone else.
When she finished, she held up the page.
“Daddy. Me. My Sunshine.”
Sunshine went still.
“What did you call me?”
Charlie blinked.
“My Sunshine.”
The words were casual.
Already decided.
Sunshine looked at me.
I could not speak for a second.
Charlie shoved the picture toward her.
“You keep it.”
“I will.”
“Put it by your bed.”
“I will.”
Charlie slid from the bench and ran toward Daisy, shouting that they needed tape.
Sunshine stared at the drawing.
“My Sunshine,” she repeated quietly.
“She means it.”
“I know.”
“She claims people quickly.”
Sunshine laughed through the emotion.
“Does she?”
“She once claimed Mace’s motorcycle.”
“That did not end well.”
“He still has stickers on the fuel tank.”
Sunshine touched the yellow figure with one fingertip.
“What happens if tomorrow goes wrong?”
I knew she was not asking about tactics.
“What happens to this?”
The picture.
The name.
The family forming around us.
I took her hand.
“Tomorrow does not decide whether you belong.”
“What if Grace is not there?”
“You still belong.”
“What if she is and hates me?”
“You still belong.”
“What if I fall apart?”
“Then we hold you together.”
Her fingers tightened around mine.
She looked toward Charlie, who had convinced Daisy to tape another drawing to the clubhouse door.
“I don’t know how to have both.”
“Both what?”
“Hope and this.”
I understood.
The children she had lost.
The child who loved her now.
“You don’t have to trade one for the other.”
She looked down at the picture again.
For once, she did not argue.
That evening, Cipher confirmed the compound had not begun a full evacuation.
The white van returned before sunset.
The children remained.
Toxic approved the operation for the following night.
Harbor House prepared beds.
Daisy organized clothing.
Lark packed comfort bags with toothbrushes, stuffed animals, snacks, and clean pajamas.
Sunshine placed Charlie’s drawing beside her bed exactly where she had promised.
Then she sent me a photograph.
The page rested against the lamp.
Three crooked figures.
One oversized bear.
A yellow sun filling the corner.
Below the image, Sunshine had written only three words.
My family too.
I read them twice.
Then Charlie climbed into my lap, saw the message, and nodded as though adults had finally caught up.
“Told you.”
“Yes, Bug.”
She leaned against my chest.
“My Sunshine stays?”
I looked toward the dark window.
Toward the rescue waiting one night away.
Toward every uncertainty neither of us could control.
Then I answered the part I could.
“She wants to.”
Charlie hugged Mr. Pickles.
“That means yes.”
For her, maybe it did.
For tonight, I let it.