I should have accompanied her.
I should have held her hand.
She was her daughter, her responsibility, and she had let her go alone. The thought hit harder than any blade ever could, because for the first time since becoming Takoda's mother, Dakota was afraid—truly afraid.
Dakota could no longer stand still. Every passing second felt like a knife twisting deeper into her chest.
"Takoda!" Her voice echoed through the corridor, but no answer came. She rushed toward one store and found nothing, then another corridor, then escalators, elevators, the play area, the food court—still nothing.
Her breathing had become uneven, her hands trembling. People stepped aside instinctively as she moved past them, no one daring to stop her, no one even knowing who she was—only that she looked like a mother whose child had vanished, and there was something terrifying about that kind of desperation.
