"Kiddie ride?" I gasped. "That was not a kiddie ride, Kael! That thing was engineered in hell and lubricated with the tears of orphans—"
A loud thump cut me off.
I turned just in time to see a tiny boy, maybe four years old, trip and fall right in front of us. His little cone of ice cream hit the pavement with a tragic splat, and he let out a sharp, wailing cry as he clutched his scraped knees.
"Oh no—" I shot up instantly, drink forgotten, and crouched beside him. "Hey, sweetheart, it's okay, it's okay—shhh, it's just a scrape, I've got you, alright?"
Kael was beside me in a heartbeat, looming quietly behind as I gently dusted off the boy's arms and checked his knees. His face was streaked with tears and strawberry sauce.
"Can you tell me your name, baby? Do you know where your mommy or daddy is?" I asked, brushing his hair back.
"L-Luca," he sobbed.
"Luca," I repeated gently. "Okay, we're gonna find your mom, alright? You're safe."
