Agent Molina moved out of the way and the little girl moved to take her place at Amos’s side. He started to open his arms, but hesitated. Mercy wasn’t having his hesitation, though, and launched herself into his arms. “How are you here?”

His arms closed around her, strong as they’d been when she’d been twelve years old and so afraid. “I came to warn you. And to get Abigail out of that place.” One of his arms left her back, and Mercy realized he’d extended it to Gideon, who stood frozen in place.

Gideon took a step back and shook his head, his expression a mass of conflict that Mercy recognized all too well. He wanted to join their reunion, but he was afraid to. And his experience with Amos had been different than hers. Mercy had had the benefit of three years of one-on-one time with their stepfather, while Gideon’s last memory of Amos was him taking Ephraim to the healer after Gideon had stabbed him in the eye as he’d fought for his life.

“Warn Mercy about what?” Gideon asked stonily. “And who is Abigail?”

Amos patted Mercy’s face with all the gentleness she remembered, then took the hand of the small girl who was watching them with a mix of fascination and fear. “This is Abigail.”

“Your daughter,” Mercy whispered. “We found the cemetery. And the cross.” For Damaris, Amos’s beloved wife.

Amos sighed. “Right. Agent Molina said that you had.”

“Let’s sit down,” Molina said. “I think Amos can answer a lot of your questions.” She gave Gideon a pointed look. “He’s been extremely helpful, as I’m sure you will see.”

Mercy looked away from her brother when Abigail tugged on Amos’s coat. Mercy knew that if she touched his coat it would be rough, made of homespun wool. She’d felt the scratchiness of it against her cheek many times.

“That’s her?” Abigail asked, confused. “She’s . . . old, Papa.”

Mercy laughed, the sound surprising her. “Hello, Abigail. I’m Mercy.”

Abigail’s eyes were wide and gray as she openly appraised Mercy. “I know. You’re my papa’s other daughter. We thought you were dead.”

Gideon abruptly left them, retaking his seat next to Daisy, who promptly put Brutus in his lap. Gideon’s expression softened and he whispered his thanks.

“Mercy, sit down,” Daisy commanded. “I’m dying of curiosity over here.”

I came to warn you. Amos’s words sank in and Mercy suddenly felt cold. But then she felt Rafe standing behind her, warm and solid. “Rafe, this is Amos Terrill. Amos, this is Detective Rafe Sokolov, Irina’s son. And my . . . friend,” she added weakly, not sure what she and Rafe were to each other.

Mercy didn’t miss Amos’s uncertain glance at Gideon before he met Rafe’s gaze. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Rafe held out his hand. “Welcome. Mercy has spoken highly of you.”

Amos shook Rafe’s hand, a small shudder visibly shaking him. “Thank you.”

Once they were all seated around the table and Irina had served them more tea, Amos folded his hands and drew a breath. “We left Eden last night.”