Camera flashbulbs lit the air like tiny explosions, the cold wind lifting Myla’s hair as she stepped up beside Hayden’s wheelchair.

His hand found hers on the head rest, his thumb slid over her thumb in a silent ‘are you ready?.

She squeezed back. Ready. 

“First of all,” Myla said clearly, her voice carrying through the sea of microphones shoved in her direction.

The chaos died down and reporters stopped pushing against the barrier that the guards had set up to manage the ...