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

Leo clung to Bastien’s sleeve. “Mrs. Sylvie, look. He has the same tattoo as my dad.”

Sylvie’s face drained of color.

She tightened her grip on Leo’s hand. “We’re going inside. Now.”

Bastien stood. “Please—wait. If you’ll allow it… I think I might be able to help.”

She hesitated, studying him. Exhaustion lined her face—the kind that comes from years of managing heartbreak.