The train screamed into Bellwether Station just as Mara Bell lost her grip on the umbrella.
Wind tore it from her hand and sent it skittering beneath the iron benches, its blue fabric snapping like a wounded bird. Rain struck her face, cold enough to make her gasp, while Noah squirmed beneath her coat. She tightened her arm around him and hurried along the crowded platform, one palm cupped over the soft cap covering his head.
“Nearly there, sweetheart,” she whispered. “Mama’s got you.”

