He reached out and placed a large hand on Owen’s shoulder.

As he did, his sleeve brushed against the stuffed bear the boy held so tightly.

Ryker’s eyes drifted down to the toy.

I watched as his brow furrowed, his attention caught by the uneven stitching on the back of the bear’s neck.

The blue thread used to repair the seam didn’t match the original brown fabric.

It was thick, clumsy work, done in a hurry.

“Where did you get this bear, Owen?” Ryker asked, his tone shifting from comforting to intensely curious.

“Mama gave it to me,” Owen said, squeezing the toy closer to his chest. “Before she had to go on the long airplane.”

“Did she sew this?” Ryker asked, lightly touching the thick blue thread.

Owen nodded slowly. “She said it was a magic bear. She told me to never let anyone else have it.”

Ryker looked up at me, his eyes dark with a sudden realization.

“Vivian,” he called out, his voice sharp but quiet. “Come look at this.”

I walked over and bent down beside him, smelling the rain and wet asphalt on his jacket.