Chapter 7

I didn't sleep on the plane. I sat with my forehead against the window, Leo snoring beside me, trying not to think about that man running into the fire. He'd gone back. Too late. Twenty minutes too late. After he'd made sure she was safe. It didn't count. I told myself it didn't count. Aunt Lucia met us at a private airfield outside Halifax. Seventy years old, five-foot-nothing, silver braid down her back. She took one look at my face and pulled me into her arms. "Basta," she murmured....