Then Pippa coughed weakly, the sound thin and strained from deep inside her chest.
Rylan forced himself back up. Near the far corner, two broken bricks had left a narrow opening in the wall. If they could reach it, there was still hope.
He pulled Pippa across the ground inch by inch. Once they reached the gap, he gently pushed her through first. Then he squeezed through after her, biting back a cry as his injured leg scraped painfully against the bricks.
Soft grass waited on the other side. Ahead of them stretched a small stone path leading toward a familiar neighboring house.
The back porch light switched on the moment Rylan pounded weakly against the door. Edith Bramley opened it and froze at the sight of the two children.
Without hesitation, she gathered Pippa into her arms and helped Rylan inside. “Stay awake,” she told him gently. “Help is coming.”
Her voice wrapped around him like warmth after an endless cold. Moments later, the sound of sirens filled the air. Paramedics rushed in quickly, tending to Pippa first and then to him.
Their calm voices overlapped around the room. Someone said, “Severe dehydration.” Another voice added quietly, “Possible infection.”
At the hospital, Rylan drifted between sleep and consciousness. A doctor explained that his leg had fractured in two places. He listened silently, but his attention never left Pippa.
She rested in the bed beside him, looking impossibly small and fragile. When her fever finally broke the following day, tears slipped down his face from relief.
Detective Edith Bramley returned that afternoon to ask what had happened. Rylan told her everything. She listened carefully without interrupting him once.
When he finished speaking, she rested a steady hand on his shoulder. “You did the right thing,” she said softly. “You saved her.”
