CHAPTER 1: Sarah’s Hand on His Sleeve

Sarah had never felt Noah’s sleeve so thin in her fingers.
She wanted to pull him to the floor and cover him with her body. She wanted to make herself bigger than fear. Instead, she stayed kneeling, one hand locked around his arm, the other pressed against his back.
“Listen to me,” she mouthed, but no sound came out.
The intruder stopped several feet away.
He had no visible weapon, but fear did not need metal to feel real. His black gloves, black clothes, and hidden face were enough to turn every adult in the lobby into stone.
“Kid,” he said, “listen to your mother.”
Noah swallowed.
Sarah felt the tiny movement through his sleeve.
She knew that look on his face. It was the same look he wore when thunder shook the windows and he tried to pretend he was not scared.
A woman near the lobby chairs began to cry silently. A banker behind the counter shut his eyes. Officer Brooks, the bank security guard, stayed low by the ropes, watching without making a move that might startle anyone.
Sarah wanted to say that Noah was only six, that he still slept with a nightlight, that he still called pancakes “flat cakes” when he was happy.
But the room did not care how young he was.
Brave did not mean fearless.
Brave meant he was scared and still choosing something.
Sarah just did not know what.