Alice's heart was in her throat as she listened to Miss Sinclair speak. Since she was five, that couldn't be right. Sloane was obviously well until this summer-
Miss Sinclair was pulling away and Alice had to reluctantly release her hand on the girl's wrist, even if her every impulse screamed at her to maintain that connection. Almost as if any sort of distance might force these new possibilities back beneath the surface. Sloane - this had to be Sloane. Miss Sinclair spoke so differently, but even the pained grimace the girl made looked startlingly similar.
"Please," she pleaded, "I'll explain in a moment if you tell me what happened to you this summer." Mid summer, that had to be July. She and Wallace had found Sloane's broom on the shore, but never any other trace of her. Alice had scoured those woods for weeks, hunting like a wolf for any scent of its prey. "Please, it's important." She nearly begged again, her palms clammy and her heart racing.
Miss Sinclair was pulling away and Alice had to reluctantly release her hand on the girl's wrist, even if her every impulse screamed at her to maintain that connection. Almost as if any sort of distance might force these new possibilities back beneath the surface. Sloane - this had to be Sloane. Miss Sinclair spoke so differently, but even the pained grimace the girl made looked startlingly similar.
"Please," she pleaded, "I'll explain in a moment if you tell me what happened to you this summer." Mid summer, that had to be July. She and Wallace had found Sloane's broom on the shore, but never any other trace of her. Alice had scoured those woods for weeks, hunting like a wolf for any scent of its prey. "Please, it's important." She nearly begged again, her palms clammy and her heart racing.