The beach was quiet, except for the gentle lull of waves brushing against the shore. The late afternoon sun cast a golden hue over the fine sands. Darcy spotted the familiar white hair before he saw the boy's full figure. Micah was crouched near the waterline, his arms hugging his knees tightly. He was too still, too small against the endless horizon.
Panicked, Darcy slammed the car door shut and jogged toward him, sand crunching beneath him.
But then he heard sniffing, and he stopped.
"Micah…" he called gently, his voice was filled with uncertainty.
The boy was startled by the sound. Micah flinched, his body losing balance. With legs that gone numb from sitting too long in one position, he fell back into the sand. His palm hit the ground beside him to break the fall, sand clinging to his skin.
Darcy, seeing his reaction, didn't move. But when Micah raised the same hand to wipe his face, he bolted toward him.
