Samuel blinked, his breath catching in his chest, as something unfamiliar stirred inside him, something that felt like recognition.
The car moved on when the light changed, but the moment did not fade. It followed them both, lingering like a quiet echo neither could explain.
Days later, Samuel insisted on returning to the city park near Briarwood Avenue. His mother, Marianne Prescott, hesitated at first, accustomed to shielding her son from disappointment and exhaustion, but there was something in his voice that day that she could not refuse. It was not pleading. It was not hope. It was certainty mixed with curiosity, as if he were being drawn back by an invisible thread.
When their housekeeper, Nadia Volkov, pushed his wheelchair along the gravel path beneath tall oak trees, Samuel felt his heart race in a way that had nothing to do with fear. And then he saw him.
Jonah sat alone on a weathered bench near the fountain, knees drawn to his chest, his gaze calm and attentive, as though he had been waiting without knowing whom he waited for.
Their eyes met again, and Jonah smiled, not with politeness or pity, but with warmth that felt honest and unguarded.