Minutes stretched into an hour. The wind screamed outside, trying to finish what it started.

Just as Arthur began to fear the worst, a small shudder went through the bundle. A cough. Then, a pair of eyes fluttered open. They were wide, brown, and filled with a terror so profound it made Arthur flinch.

The boy looked at the fire, then up at the wrinkled, bearded face of the old Sheriff. He didn’t see a savior. He looked as if he expected a monster.

“You’re safe,” Arthur rasped, his voice cracking. “I’ve got you.”

The boy’s gaze drifted past Arthur, toward the door. His teeth chattered violently. He tried to speak, but his throat was too dry, too cold.

Arthur leaned in close. “What is it? Where is your mama?”

The boy’s eyes glazed over, staring at something only he could see. He whispered three words, so faint Arthur almost missed them.