Baskin

She looked up. Her eyes were the color of the harbor before a storm. “I’m looking for the Singing Bridge,” she said. Her voice was too steady for a child alone in the rain.

“Don’t,” Leo said, but the girl was already stepping onto the first plank. It held. He followed, against every instinct.

“I know who you are,” Leo whispered.

That’s when he saw the girl.

“Hey,” he said, pulling his collar up. “You lost?”