Hopex

He closed his eyes and let the tears come.

Logan finally looked at her. Her eyes were the color of storm clouds—gray, heavy, and full of something that hadn’t yet decided to fall. He recognized the look. It was the moment just before a person gave up. The flatness wasn't peace. It was the silence before the scream.

“Before he walked into the Tide.”

It was safe hope.

The lullaby played.

She picked up the box, but didn’t leave. “You used to be a Hoper.”

She was twelve, maybe thirteen, with hair the color of rust and a cut above her eyebrow that she hadn’t bothered to clean. She stood in the doorway of his shop, dripping rainwater onto the floor, clutching a broken music box shaped like a crescent moon. He closed his eyes and let the tears come

“What’s your name?” he asked.