Mercy brought her and Abigail’s joined hands to her lips to kiss the little girl’s white knuckles. “ICU means Intensive Care Unit. It’s the part of the hospital where they put patients who need someone watching them constantly.”

And was probably not the place for a seven-year-old, but Abigail had been insistent, according to Irina, who’d driven the child to the hospital herself. Well, along with Karl, who wasn’t letting his wife out of his sight after the events of the day. The man who’d been so kind and welcoming was still pale, still trembling, even though his son was mostly fine now that the effects of Ephraim’s sedative had worn off. Damien had a concussion, but was home with his wife, who, according to Irina, hadn’t left his side.

Mercy figured that once it all sank in, she’d be as shaky as Karl. For now she was blessedly numb, which kept her from breaking into tears in the face of Abigail’s fear. The little girl’s expression was anxiously trusting, as if she’d believe any word that came from Mercy’s mouth but desperately hoped the words were what she needed to hear.

“Will he die?” Abigail whispered.

Mercy almost said no, but she wouldn’t lie to Abigail. Too many people had. “I hope not.” She tucked a stray hair behind Abigail’s ear. “Papa is a strong man.” Totally true. “He loves you very much and will fight to stay with you, but if his body is hurt too badly . . .” She sighed and, tugging her hand free, pulled Abigail into her arms. The little girl came willingly, sliding her arms around Mercy’s neck and fiercely holding on. “If he doesn’t wake up, it won’t be because he didn’t want to stay with you forever. Does that make sense?”

A slight nod, but Abigail was trembling. Crying. Oh, baby. “I’m sorry, Abigail. I’m so sorry.”

Abigail shook her head. “You didn’t shoot him,” she said into Mercy’s neck.

No, I didn’t. “There’s sorry-apologize and sorry-sorrowful. I mean the second one.”

Another slight nod. “Can we go in now?”

Mercy pulled back, wiping Abigail’s wet cheeks with her thumbs. “My mama used to dry my tears like this,” Mercy whispered. “Then she’d kiss my forehead. Can I kiss yours?”

Abigail leaned forward, presenting her forehead, which made Mercy smile as she kissed her. “Your papa would be so proud of you right now. You are a very brave girl.”

“You are, too. You helped save your friend. She told me.”

Farrah and André had returned to the Sokolov house to rest and be taken care of by the Sokolov horde. Farrah had texted Mercy that she felt right at home. “Farrah is my very best friend. Of course I helped to save her. That’s what you do for the people you love.”

“Like my papa saved you.”

Mercy swallowed hard. “Yes.” And by extension, he’d saved Rafe, which guaranteed him a place at the Sokolovs’ table forever. If he wakes up. Please wake up, Amos. Abigail needs you.