The piece had been custom-made by a private jeweler in Manhattan more than a decade earlier. One of a kind. Commissioned for his daughter Isabella, who had vanished six years ago without a single fingerprint, ransom note, or confirmed sighting.
Only three of those pendants had ever existed: one for his wife, one for himself, and one for Isabella.
The last time Nathaniel had seen his daughter alive, she’d been wearing it—laughing, fingers absently tracing the star, unaware the world was already rearranging itself to take her away.
Nathaniel didn’t tell the driver to stop.
He didn’t consider traffic laws or the horns blaring around him.
He simply opened the door and stepped into the street, heart pounding so loudly it drowned out everything else.
The boy noticed him immediately.
Years of surviving adults had sharpened his instincts. He recoiled, clutching the plastic bag tighter, body coiled and ready to bolt. Nathaniel crouched several feet away, forcing his voice to stay calm despite the tremor in his hands.
Fear recognized fear.
“That necklace,” Nathaniel said quietly, nodding toward the star. “Where did you get it?”