Katherine's knuckles were white on the steering wheel. She hadn't spoken in twenty minutes.

Through the windshield, a sprawling two-story farmhouse emerged from the Colorado landscape. Paint peeling in places. A wraparound porch cluttered with boots and a forgotten skateboard. A tire swing hanging from a massive oak.

The house looked lived-in. Loud. Warm.

A big man with a kind face and work-roughened hands stepped onto the porch. George. Behind him, a blur of movement—a flash of red hair, a skateboard being caught mid-air.

The red-haired boy—Lee—set his skateboard down, arms crossed, studying the truck with open curiosity. Another boy appeared beside him. Dark hair. Broader. A quiet intensity in his eyes.