When Wren returned the next morning, Logan didn’t hand her the music box. Instead, he knelt to her eye level and pressed the silver pin—the open hand—into her palm.
“You listen,” he said. He wound the music box. The lullaby filled the shop, soft as starlight. “And then you teach someone else to listen.” When Wren returned the next morning, Logan didn’t
He closed his eyes and let the tears come. When Wren returned the next morning
She didn’t move. “I don’t have creds.” When Wren returned the next morning, Logan didn’t