The Deal
“Fine,” Miles said, leaning forward a little. “Let’s make a deal.”
Owen blinked.
Miles swallowed, then pushed the words out like a challenge to fate.
“If you can help me—if you can do what all those specialists couldn’t—then I’ll give you half my fortune. I’ll give your family a life you don’t even have words for yet. I’ll put it in writing. I’ll make it real.”
His voice trembled at the end, and he hated that it sounded like hope.
Then his expression hardened again.
“But if you can’t,” Miles added, “leave me alone.”
For a moment, the boy just stood there, as if deciding whether Miles meant it.
Owen didn’t look scared.
He looked resolved.
He walked straight up to the chair and knelt down on the grass.
Then, without asking, he rested his small hand on Miles’ knee.
His palm was warm. Slightly dusty from the yard.
Miles’ first instinct was to pull back.
To knock the hand away and yell.
But something in the boy’s face stopped him.
Owen looked like he was about to do something important—something sacred, in the way children believe deeply without needing proof.
“Can I pray for you?” Owen asked quietly.
Miles’ throat tightened.
He wanted to laugh. He wanted to refuse.
Instead, he heard himself answer like a man who had run out of choices.
“Do what you want,” he muttered, closing his eyes.
