Clare’s voice came out shattered.
“Daniel… I can’t bury them again.”
He squeezed her freezing fingers, but his own hands were trembling. Standing before the twin headstones, Daniel Carter felt the same rage he had swallowed for months. He was a billionaire who never lost deals — yet grief had defeated him without mercy.
A sharp wind tore through the trees.
Then a small voice broke the silence.
“Sir… they’re not here.”
Daniel turned.
A barefoot girl, no older than ten, stood on the damp grass. Her dress was worn thin, her hair tangled — but her eyes were steady. Too steady.
Clare gasped.
“What did you say?” Daniel asked hoarsely.
“They’re not dead,” the girl repeated. “Noah and Liam. Blue bracelet for Noah. Green for Liam. They cry at night.”
The world tilted.
No stranger could know about the bracelets. Daniel and Clare had bought them on a summer trip — tiny engraved tags with their names and phone number.
“How do you know that?” Clare whispered.
“Because I hide them,” the girl said quietly. “At the orphanage on the east side. A white car brought them. Two men.”
Hope collided with horror.
If the twins weren’t dead… they had been taken.
And someone had staged their deaths.