An inch at a time, a navy scarf pushed into Sugar’s cell. Caked with mud, the thing was crusty and rough as Sugar pulled it through and wrapped it around her shoulders. An added layer of warmth soothed her shivers.

Then she saw the hands again—really saw them. In daylight and without explosions, those hands were more than small. They were… the size of a child’s.

Please… no.

She crawled to the cage barrier and pushed her face against it, hoping to see a man or a teen, and not a poor kid caught in hell. But she saw nothing other than the rocky landscape and wind-billowed tents. No kid. No adults.

Sugar rocked back on her knees and wrapped her scarfed-covered arms around her shins, balling up to preserve body heat. A tiny head poked in front of her cell and then drew back.

It was a child. A little girl. Sugar’s heart broke. Tears would’ve flooded her eyes had she not been dehydrated. No, no. Why does hell have to house babies?

Crawling back to the edge of her enclosure, she put her fingers through the holes and whispered again. “Hi, out there.”

The curious head popped forward, staying near the edge of Sugar’s makeshift cell. The girl had big brown eyes—the most inquisitive Sugar had ever seen—knotted hair, and dirt-streaked cheeks. The image wrenched her heart.

Sugar wiggled her fingers through the barricade again. The little girl did the same, putting a finger onto the crosshatch and imitating her.

“Hi,” Sugar whispered again, smiling. She pointed to the lock. “Can you open that?”

The little girl shook her head, but curled her finger again.

What language would she speak? Dari? Pashtu? Sugar knew a few basic words, but nothing that would translate well to an… eight-, nine-, ten-year-old. How old was she?

The finger disappeared. Maybe Sugar shouldn’t have asked about the lock. Any minute, she would have to deal with the fuckers keeping her caged. Any minute—

The little girl was back, bearing a gift. A piece of bread squeezed through a hole. Sugar pushed her finger through the hole in acknowledgement. “Thank you.”

The bread wasn’t much, but did the job. Leaning against her enclosure, her fingers still snaked toward freedom, Sugar finished the scrap in two bites and ignored the taste of dirt. A soft touch met her finger, and she looked out of her cage. The little girl sat on the other side and had locked a finger around hers.

Sugar whispered hello again, scared that they would both get into trouble.

“English,” the little girl whispered back, nodding.

“English,” Sugar repeated, unsure if it was a question or an affirmation. “You know English?”

She nodded, and a little smile spread across her face. Their locked fingers stayed in place, while the girl played in the dirt with her other hand.

“My name is Sugar.”