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If they didn’t send him back to Cem Kara.
If they didn’t ship him to his death.
I’d never ask for anything else.
Never strive for anything more.
I’d happily rot in jail to protect my parents and my husband.
I didn’t care what happened to me.
Just him.
Only him.
None of this matters without him!
Dad agreed. Mum agreed. They fought as fiercely for Aslan as I did. Dad disappeared for hours at a time as if physically hunting for him and visiting anyone with a smidgen of power who could help us.
He even told Wayne Gratt, the detective who’d taken my statement and Dad’s friend, the truth about Aslan.
We were past caring what would happen to us.
Past fearing anything but the worst.
The worst being...
No.
Don’t think it.
I bit my fist to contain the welling screams inside me.
I wouldn’t let that happen.
I refused to lose him.
Not now, not ever.
Teeth marks and cuts covered the back of my hands from where I’d shoved my knuckles as far as I could inside my mouth to stop my sobs. Here, in my childhood bedroom with my parents down the hall, I couldn’t let go. I couldn’t free the wet chaos inside me. I couldn’t howl at the moon or beg the sea to intervene.
I wanted a tsunami to crash over Australia and rinse Aslan free from wherever he was being held. I wanted a fire to chase his capturers out of whatever prison he was in. I wanted plagues and hurricanes. I wanted every natural disaster imaginable to come to my aid and find him.
Honey messaged me constantly, trying to help.
Billy rang government agencies on my behalf.
Dad hired an immigration lawyer who stayed at our house for two full days, hounding her contacts and demanding to speak to someone in charge of Aslan’s case.
Mum did her best to contact someone in parliament.
Teddy spoke to as many news sites as possible.
Eddie tried to get our story on social media.
And I did my best to stay alive even though every part of me was dead.
He didn’t have his phone so I couldn’t track him. I had no way of contacting him or touching him, kissing him, loving him...
