Despite the sun radiating through his bedroom window and the sound of his sister’s laughter next door, Jackson was heartbroken. Even the aroma of cinnamon that wafted up from downstairs couldn’t raise his spirits. The comfort of French toast could not replace what he’d lost—or rather, what he’d found—that morning.
What was that theory? If a tree falls in a forest and no one hears it, does it make a sound? Well, Rabia was thinking of a similar one: if a girl is buried under rubble, can anyone hear her scream? The answer, it seemed, was no.