She showed him a photograph of her late sister, and the biker nearly collapsed when he recognized his "dead" daughter's face.

Everett’s broad hands hung suspended in the air, trembling slightly, utterly paralyzed by the sudden, unreserved affection of the child hugging his leg.

"Junie! Oh goodness, I am so, so sorry!"

Claire rushed up to the pump island, her breath coming in fast hitches. She was thirty-one, a handsome woman with brown hair worn loose over her shoulders, dressed in practical blue jeans, a plain white T-shirt beneath an open olive-green button-down overshirt, and clean white sneakers. A heavy leather shoulder bag was slung across her chest. Her face was flushed with embarrassment and anxiety as she reached out to pull her daughter back.

"Junie, sweetie, you can't just run up and grab people," Claire scolded gently, giving Everett an apologetic, nervous look. "I am so sorry, sir. She's completely fearless and thinks everyone wants to be her friend."

Everett didn't rise to his feet right away. He remained kneeling on the damp pavement, his big hand coming down to rest with astonishing gentleness on Junie’s small shoulder. His dark eyes remained fixed on the little girl's face.

"It's fine," Everett murmured, his low voice thick with an emotion he couldn't quite suppress. "My daughter... she used to call me Bear."

Junie stopped hugging his leg, leaned back, and tilted her head with earnest curiosity. "Where is she?"

Claire’s eyes widened, recognizing the sudden gravity in the man's tone. "Junie, don't—"

The warm, playful light in Everett’s face vanished in an instant, replaced by a dark, hollow shadow that seemed to age him ten years. He looked away for a fraction of a second, his jaw tightening into a rigid block.

"She died," Everett said quietly. "A long time ago."

Junie’s cheerful smile faded. She looked at his face with profound, childhood empathy, her small fingers reaching up to brush against the hem of his black vest. "Oh. That makes your heart sad."

As Junie tilted her head, the low afternoon sun shifted past the canopy roof, sending a razor-sharp beam of golden light across her chest.

It caught a tiny metallic object hanging from a thin steel chain around her neck.

Everett’s gaze dropped to the object.

His entire body went rigid. His chest stopped rising. The air left his lungs in a sharp, silent gasp.

Hanging against the bright pink fabric of Junie’s dress was a tiny, worn silver bear pendant. It was distinctly crafted—its left ear was noticeably bent inward at a sharp angle, and across its polished silver belly ran a deep, jagged diagonal scratch that cut through the metal.

Everett reached out with two massive, calloused fingers. His tattooed hand was shaking so violently he almost couldn't pinch the tiny piece of silver.