Leon was crouched on the ground. Those hands—hands that refused to touch mundane chores, hands insured for millions to disarm explosives—were tightly covering the golden retriever's ears.
Claire was tucked safely in his embrace, her shoulders trembling delicately.
And my son...
My son was buried under a pile of rubble. His fate unknown.
I lay on the freezing ground. The high-pitched ringing in my ears drowned out the world. I didn't know if, in that final second, my son had called out for me.
"David... David..."
I stumbled into the ruins. My fingertips shredded against jagged concrete, turning bloody, yet the physical pain was nothing compared to the evisceration of my heart.
Under a twisted steel beam, I found him.
His small body was coated in gray dust. His chest was a mess of blood, his breathing ragged and shallow. But when his eyes found mine, he let out a faint, weak whimper.
Air rushed back into my lungs. I gathered him into my arms, tears blurring my vision.
Leon stood nearby. He didn't even bend down. A cursory glance, and then—
"He's fine. He can still be saved."
His tone was indifferent. Clinical.
A tremor of pure rage rolled through me. "Leon Weiss, how can you be so cold-blooded?"