Austin stared blankly, like the word home meant nothing.
Then Austin’s face twisted in pain. He pressed his palm to his head and groaned like something inside his brain was fighting.
Claraara leaned closer. “Austin, are you okay?”
Austin’s breathing became rough. His eyes rolled like he was trying to remember something that ran away.
Then his mouth opened and a single name fell out.
“Martins.”
Martins froze. His eyes filled instantly. “Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, Baba, it’s me.”
Austin blinked. His eyes widened, and suddenly he began to cry—deep, heavy tears that made his shoulders shake.
He looked at his dirty hands like he couldn’t believe they belonged to him.
Then he looked at Claraara, still crying, and said in a broken voice, “Why? Why did I sleep on the ground?”
Claraara’s throat tightened.
Martins reached forward slowly, his hands shaking, and tried to hold his father.
But Austin pulled back again, suddenly panicked.
“No!” Austin cried. “Don’t touch me. Don’t touch.”
Austin’s eyes darted around wildly. His breathing grew faster. His face showed fear again, like his memory was coming and going.
Claraara held her breath because in that moment, she realized something terrifying.
Austin was not fully back.
And if he slipped away again, Martins might lose him right there on that dusty ground, right in front of her.
And Claraara didn’t know if she could handle seeing that.
Austin’s body shook harder.
Then he grabbed Claraara’s wrist tightly and whispered with raw fear, “Claraara, please don’t let them take me.”
Claraara’s eyes widened as Martins stood up quickly, his face turning sharp as he looked at his guards.
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