The boy stared at the policeman’s tattoo. “My dad had the same one,” he said—and the officer went rigid.

Étienne.

They hadn’t spoken in five years.
Five years of silence born from pride, bitterness, and a fight so explosive it had erased everything that came before it. Bastien didn’t even know where Étienne lived anymore—if he was still in Lyon, or if he had vanished entirely.

Bastien crouched down so he was eye level with the boy.

“What’s your name, champ?” he asked gently.

“Leo,” the boy replied without hesitation. “I live over there… with Mrs. Sylvie.”