grief that gnawed at his insides morphed into a fierce rage, every fiber of his being screaming silent blame at her. For him, in that moment, there was no question—it was her fault.

But before his anger could spill over into further accusations, Miguel was abruptly brought back to reality by a punch that landed squarely on his face. The blow, delivered by one of the surviving men, a burly fellow with sorrow etched deep into his features, was a cold splash of sobriety. The physical shock jolted Miguel from his spiraling wrath, and as he steadied himself, his eyes were drawn to Rigel and Daniel. The children, ensconced in Tabitha’s arms, were crying, their small bodies racked with sobs that cut through the morning stillness.

His heart wrenched as he scanned the faces around him—wounded, f...

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