“That’s my wife,” he said coldly. “And she died two years ago. Car accident. No survivors. Don’t come here making up stories for money. Get him out.”
The guards stepped forward, but the boy didn’t move.
“I’m not lying!” he cried, his voice cracking. “She was hurt… scared. Wearing a torn dress. I only asked for food. If you feed me, I’ll show you where she is. She told me something… she said if I told you ‘Shadow is waiting for her,’ you’d believe me.”
The glass slipped from Alexander’s hand and shattered on the floor.
Everything froze.
“What… did you say?” he whispered, stepping closer.
“She said Shadow is waiting for her,” the boy repeated. “There was a black dog too. Big… but limping.”
Alexander’s breath caught.
No one knew that. No one except him.
The dog—Shadow—had been in the car the night of the accident. Neither body had ever been found.
For the first time in two years, something broke through the numbness inside him.
Hope.
Sharp, terrifying, and alive.
“What’s your name?” he asked, kneeling in front of the boy, uncaring of the dirt on his expensive suit.
“Ethan, sir.”