The singer reached the chorus.
Noah swayed.
I caught his arm.
“Look at me.”
A small sound came from him.
Trapped.
His pupil widened.
“Noah.”
The workshop disappeared from his expression.
He was seeing something else.
Rain.
Metal.
Darkness.
I could not tell.
His knees folded.
I caught him against me.
The song continued.
Owen lunged toward the radio.
Before he reached it, Noah screamed.
The sound tore through the yard.
Not pain alone.
Recognition.
Terror.
His fingers clawed into my shirt.
“Turn it off!”
The music stopped.
Silence crashed through the bay.
Noah shook violently in my arms.
“Cal,” he gasped.
“I’m here.”
