"Oh, you poor thing..." Biting back a wave of pain, Ivy Holden helped the boy up, her brow furrowed with concern. "Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?"
The boy looked to be about eight or nine years old. His small face was smeared with dirt, and his large, dark eyes were fixed on Ivy Holden, filled with a desperate plea.
"Are you okay?" Jensen Morrison reached out to straighten the back of Ivy Holden's clothes before turning his attention to the boy. He noted the child's clothes were not only filthy but also too small, stretched taut across his frame.
"Hey, little guy," Jensen asked. "Are you in some kind of trouble?"
"You're right, there is something strange about him, isn't there?" Hearing Jensen's question, Ivy Holden took another, closer look at the boy.
Just then, a voice called out from the edge of the crowd. "Danny? Danny?! You little brat, why did you run off? Excuse me, let me through! My kid's been running wild, I hope he didn't cause any trouble..."
