Minutes later, a black sedan rolled quickly through the cobblestone streets of the city. Nathan drove, eyes fixed on the road. Aiden sat in the passenger seat, clutching his old cap in both hands.
“Do you lie often, Aiden?” Nathan asked, still looking forward.
“No, sir,” the boy replied almost instantly. “On the streets, if you lie, sooner or later someone beats it out of you… or you end up starving.”
Nathan glanced at him for just a second—and suddenly recognized him. The kid was the cook’s son, the one who sometimes helped his mother carry groceries into the mansion. Nathan had watched him from a distance before.
He’d just never really seen him.
Until now.
The city faded behind them, and the landscape grew bare and forgotten—abandoned warehouses, overgrown lots, rusted fences. The car turned onto a dirt road that made the chassis rattle.
“Down there,” Aiden said, pointing toward some crumbling buildings. “Near that busted-up factory.”
Nathan slowed. The wind whistled through the broken windows, making a low, eerie sound. Everything smelled of rust and damp and neglect.