"June," he repeated, and wrote the name in a ledger with flourished script. He tapped the page and it made a sound like a key turning. "Tell us her story."

"June," Addyson said without thinking.

She walked with the copper-haired man to the neighborhood the map marked—a place that smelled of old bread and warm metal. The square was unremarkable: a park with a broken fountain and a statue missing its head. Where the statue should have gazed across the place, there was only a flat stone that absorbed the sky. Addyson set June on that stone and waited.