“He lives with my mom and me,” she said. “He’s very quiet. He likes drawing on old paper… and he cries at night.”
Adrian’s throat tightened.
“Does he call for his dad?”
The girl nodded again.
“Very softly… so no one hears.”
For a moment Adrian felt as if the ground had disappeared beneath him.
Lucas loved drawing.
Lucas had always been sensitive.
His son was alive.
“Where is your house?” Adrian asked urgently. “Is it far?”
She pointed down a narrow street.
“Just around the corner. The house with the blue windows.”
“Please take me there,” he begged.
The girl hesitated.
“My mom says I shouldn’t talk to strangers… especially about the boy.”
“I promise no one will hurt you,” Adrian said. “I only want to see him.”
After a moment, she nodded and began walking.
Adrian followed immediately, leaving his car, his driver, and his old life behind.
They moved through a maze of tight alleys and crooked stairways. With every step, Adrian felt as if he were walking toward a truth that could either save him—or destroy him completely.
Finally the girl stopped.
She pointed to a small, worn house with peeling paint and faded blue window frames.
“This one.”
Adrian’s hands shook as he knocked on the door.