Three hours earlier—
Roe ran until his chest hurt.
The cold night air stung his wet cheeks, but he did not stop until the hotel lights were behind him and the noise of the banquet faded into traffic and wind. He slowed only when his small legs began to wobble.
Little Roe hadn't meant to go far. He just didn't want Uncle Vicky to see him cry.
He stood near the edge of the driveway, hiccupping softly, wiping his face with his sleeve the way Mama always scolded him for.
"Mama said Uncle Vicky was her family and he hated Roe. Will she hate Roe too now? Huu…Huu." Fresh tears started anew.
In his short life, no one had ever disliked Little Roe. Uncle Vicky's hostility had hurt him badly. After a while, he started getting anxious and turned around.
Mama would be looking for him. She would be worried.
"I have to go back," he muttered to himself, trying to sound brave.
He walked toward the glowing hotel entrance again, following the bright glass doors. But by the time he stepped back inside, the atmosphere had changed.
The music had grown louder.
Guests were leaving.
Men in dark suits and women in shimmering gowns crowded the lobby, laughter mixing with the shuffle of heels and the rumble of luggage being rolled across marble floors. Staff hurried between them.
Roe stopped.
He tried to stand on his toes to see above the sea of bodies, searching for royal blue silk. For blonde hair.
"Mama?" he called softly.
No one heard him.
A group brushed past, nearly knocking him sideways. He steadied himself and turned in a small circle, panic beginning to fill his small body.
"Mama!" He shouted, but no one seemed to hear him. Anxiety took over him.
Did Mama leave him behind? Did Uncle Vicky tell her he had gone home so he could send him to an orphanage?
His eyes widened at the thought.
"No…No! Mama would never leave Roe!"
He ran to the lot, hiding behind cars so Uncle Vicky wouldn't find him. And seeing his mother's shiny blue car, he heaved a sigh of relief.
She would go home in the car, and once he gets home, he will tell her all about what Uncle Vicky said. He wiped his wet cheeks. "She will scold bad uncle!"
He nodded to himself, convincing his racing heart.
"I'll hide in the car," he decided.
The parking level was colder and darker than the lobby. The sound of engines echoed between concrete pillars.
The trunk wasn't fully latched—just slightly lifted, probably from a distracted driver loading luggage. To Roe, it looked like a sign.
Mama must be getting ready to leave. He glanced around, but no one was looking at him.
He reached up with both hands and pushed the trunk open further. It creaked softly.
"I'll tell Mama everything," he whispered through his tears.
He climbed inside carefully, curling up between two large suitcases. The space smelled faintly of leather and something unfamiliar, but he was too tired to question it.
He pulled the trunk down as best as he could. It didn't latch completely, but it closed enough.
He waited and waited before drowsiness from crying for an hour took owner and he dozed off.
—
Jason whistled, going around his car, frowning at the slightly open trunk, slamming it shut, he flopped inside his car, adjusting the rear-view mirror to set his hair.
Turning up a slow song to vibe with the night, he did not hear the soft breathing beneath the luggage.
—
Azrael was still in the back seat of the car, periodically staring at the pictures of the boy the woman had sent him while glaring at the tablet.
The resemblance was uncanny… but the boy had disappeared like a needle in a haystack.
Streetlights slid past the tinted windows in long ribbons of gold, reflecting faintly across his unmoving expression.
"Trace every vehicle that exited the hotel within the last three hours," Adrian sat ahead, nursing a headache, relaying instructions through a secure line. "Cross-reference with parking garage footage. And recheck interior cameras. He may have come back inside."
"Yes, sir."
The command rippled outward immediately. The hum of coordinated movement thrummed quietly through the encrypted network.
Azrael frowned at the footage, it wasn't possible for a four-year-old boy to avoid cameras intentionally.
A chime sounded from Adrian's tablet.
"We may have something," he said quickly. "Lower parking level. Three hours ago."
The footage loaded in Azrael's tablet. Roe appeared on screen, small and unmistakable in his navy suit, weaving so carefully between cars that you could hardly spot his rushing body.
Azrael leaned forward slightly.
The boy stopped beside a black sedan, and the trunk lifted slightly before lowering, so that you could barely see it in the grainy footage.
'Did he climb inside the trunk?'
Silence filled the car as a lanky guy came swinging his hips, shut the trunk, and drove off.
"Trace the number late at once," Azrael ordered.
"On it. Sir… Registered to Jason Walker," Adrian replied, scanning the file. "Twenty-four. Heir to Walker Holdings. Checked into the hotel this afternoon with friends. They left separately. His vehicle exited approximately eleven minutes after Roe entered the trunk."
"Current location?"
"Residential address in North Crest Heights. Thirty-two minutes from here."
Azrael's gaze sharpened. "Drive."
The car surged forward.
—
Across the city, Jason Walker was humming to himself as he fixed himself a snack. The evening had been loud and fun—he was finally able to breathe now that he was out of the hostel, and his father was on a business trip.
With a lazy stretch, he left the dishes in the sink and made a mess in the living room.
"God, keep that old fart busy for the rest of my days! I'll donate half of my fortune once he's dead!" he prayed to himself when he remembered how he left his luggage in his car.
"Damn…!" He still needed to change, so he lazily entered their driveway.
He walked around to the back of the sedan and pressed the trunk release.
It lifted smoothly. Jason blinked in disbelief. There were his suitcases and between them—
A child…
A very real, very small child!
The young boy was curled up and sleeping. Jason stared before leaning in closer. The child's chest rose and fell steadily.
Jason jerked backward as if the trunk had exploded.
"What—what—what is that?" he whispered to absolutely no one. "That old fart is gonna kill me!"
He looked around wildly at the empty driveway, half-expecting hidden cameras. His mind raced through every possible explanation.
"Did someone—did someone put a child in my car? Is this a prank? Is this a crime? Am I in a crime?"
The boy stirred faintly.
Jason made a sound somewhere between a yelp and a gasp and stumbled back another step.
"Oh my God. Oh my God. That's a real child."
He grabbed his phone with shaking hands and dialed emergency services immediately.
"Yes, hello," he blurted the second the call connected. "I—there is a child in my trunk. I did not put the child in my trunk. I would never put a child in my trunk. I just opened it. He's just there. I don't even know how long he's been there—he's breathing, I think he's breathing—"
Inside the trunk, Roe shifted and blinked up at the unfamiliar ceiling of night sky.
He looked confused.
"He's moving! Ah, well… please come here soon, Residential address in North Crest Heights…"
Jason made another panicked noise and crouched down cautiously, as though approaching a wild animal.
"Hi," he said weakly. "Hello. Ho-How are you here?"
Little Roe rubbed his eyes. "You're not Mama," he murmured.
"No," Jason said immediately. "Definitely not."
Sirens wailed faintly in the distance. Jason's relief lasted exactly four seconds.
Then a second sound layered over it—the low, controlled purr of multiple high-end engines entering the driveway.
He turned. Four black SUVs rolled through the gates as if they owned them. Jason swallowed as one vehicle stopped directly behind his sedan.
The back door opened, and Azrael stepped out.
Jason's eyes bulged out seeing the legend in front of him.
"M-Mr. Hawthorne! I didn't do it! I called the police!" Jason blurted immediately, hands flying up defensively. "Because there was a child in my trunk! Which I did not put there! I just want that on record!"
Azrael did not look at him.
He stopped at the trunk. Roe sat up slowly between the suitcases, blinking against the light.
Azrael's features did not visibly change, but something in the air around him shifted. He reached in carefully and lifted the boy into his arms.
Roe studied his face.
"…Mama… Where's mama?" he said softly.
Jason's jaw dropped. The child was Azrael Hawthorne's! He was screwed! Royally screwed!
Azrael adjusted his hold, one hand steady and sure at the child's back.
"We are going to her," he answered quietly.
Roe, still groggy, leaned into him as though the recognition were instinctive.
Jason looked between them in growing horror and fascination.
"I—this is—so you—he—what is happening?"
Azrael finally glanced at him. Jason immediately wished he had not. He tilted his head at Aiden, who was staring shell-shocked at the mini replica of his boss, but was quick to get out of it.
"The team will handle the authorities," He said, as his boss went past him to the vehicle, "You will provide your full statement…"