“Don’t look at the water,” June said, voice steady as ever. “Look at me.”
We did.
“We’re still good,” she said. “We keep going.”
Bear took a breath and disappeared under the belly again. The rope lifted a trembling note. The rain printed a million tiny signatures on the river’s skin.
“Name?” Ms. Patel called to the next small face peering through the window.
The child whispered something I couldn’t hear.
“Welcome,” she said, with a smile that reached past the storm. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
We made room in the chain—and felt the ground, beneath all of us, begin to move.
Part 3 – The River Keeps the Time
The ground didn’t just move—it sighed and settled, a tired porch step caving under too many storms. The human chain tightened on instinct. Knees flexed. Shoulders leaned. No one let go.
“Freeze,” Doc said, not loud, just certain. “Shift your weight to your back leg. Keep the line above your knees.”
