Three hours earlier—
Roe ran until his chest hurt.
The cold night air stung his wet cheeks, but he did not stop until the hotel lights were behind him. He slowed only when his small legs began to wobble.
Little Roe cried loudly. In his short life, no one had ever disliked Little Roe. Uncle Vicky hurt him badly.
He stood near the driveway, hiccupping softly, wiping his face with his sleeve the way Mama always scolded him for.
"Uncle Vicky is Mama's family, and he hated Roe. Will she hate Roe, too now? Huu…Huu." Fresh tears started anew.
After a while, he started getting anxious and turned around.
Mama would be looking for him. She would be worried.
"I have to go back," he muttered to himself.
He walked toward the hotel entrance again. But by the time he stepped back inside, the atmosphere had changed.
The music had grown louder, and the guests were leaving.
Men in dark suits and women in shimmering gowns crowded the lobby, laughter mixing with the shuffle of heels and the rumble of luggage being rolled across marble floors. Staff hurried between them.
He tried to stand on his toes, searching for blue gown his mother was wearing.
"Mama?" he called softly.
A group brushed past, nearly knocking him down. Panic bagan filling his small body.
"Mama!" He shouted, but no one seemed to hear him.
Did Mama leave him behind? Did Uncle Vicky tell her he had gone home so he could send him to an orphanage?
His eyes widened at the thought.
"No…No! Mama would never leave Roe!"
He ran to the lot, hiding behind cars so Uncle Vicky wouldn't find him. And seeing his mother's shiny blue car, he heaved a sigh of relief.
She would go home in the car, and once he gets home, he will tell her all about what Uncle Vicky said!
He wiped his wet cheeks, nodding. "She will scold bad uncle!"
"I'll hide in the car."
The parking level was cold and dark. He tried to enter the car, but the doors won't budge.
He huffed in frustration when he saw the trunk wasn't fully closed.
"I'll tell Mama everything," he whispered through his tears, climbing in.
Pulling the trunk down as best as he could, he waited and waited, his tears falling continuously.
Crying for an hour made him so sleepy, he dozed off.
....
Whistling, Jason walked around his car. Frowning at the slightly open trunk, he slammed it shut.
He turned up a slow song to vibe with the night, and didn't hear the soft breathing under the luggage.
....
Azrael periodically glared at the pictures of the boy the woman had sent him while looking at the footages.
The resemblance was uncanny… but the boy had disappeared like a needle in a haystack.
Streetlights slid past the tinted windows, reflecting faintly across his darkened expression.
Azrael frowned. It wasn't possible for a four-year-old boy to avoid cameras intentionally, but he was nowhere to be seen after exiting the hotel.
A chime sounded from Luka's tablet.
"Sir, we may have something," he turned to his Boss. "Lower parking level. Three hours ago."
The footage loaded in Azrael's tablet. A flash of navy blue, weaving carefully between cars, shadows that you could hardly spot him.
Azrael leaned forward slightly.
The boy went around the car before the trunk lifted slightly and lowered. You could barely see it in the grainy footage.
Did he climb inside the trunk?
Dreadful silence filled the car. Just then, a lanky guy appeared in the footage, shaking his hips, shut the trunk, and drove off.
"Trace the number plate." Azrael ordered.
"On it. Sir… Registered to Jason Walker," Luka replied, scanning the file. "Twenty-four. Heir to Walker Holdings. Checked into the hotel this afternoon with friends. They left separately. His vehicle exited approximately eleven minutes after Roe entered the trunk."
"Current location?"
"Residential address in North Crest Heights. Thirty-two minutes from here."
Azrael's gaze sharpened. "Drive."
—
Jason hummed, fixing himself a snack. He just met his friends, right after landing from a vacation, and his father was on a business trip!
He couldn't be happier.
"God, keep my old man busy for the rest of my life! I'll donate half of my fortune once he's dead!" he cackled at the loud TV screen when he remembered the luggage in his car.
"Oh, man…!"
He lazily entered their driveway and lifted the trunk only to stagger back in shock.
"Wh-what?"
There were his suitcases and between them—
A very real, very small child!
The young boy was curled up. Jason stared, horrified, leaning in closer. The child's chest rose and fell steadily.
Jason jerked backward as if the trunk had exploded.
"What—what is that?" he whispered hysterically. "That old fart is gonna kill me!"
He looked around wildly in the empty driveway.
"Did someone—did someone put a child in my car? Is this a prank? Is this a crime? Am I in a crime?"
The boy stirred faintly.
Jason yelped, stumbling back.
"Oh, my God. Oh my God! That's a real child!"
His shaky hands dialed emergency services immediately.
"I-I didn't do anything," he blurted the second the call connected. "I—there is a child in my trunk. I did not put the child in my trunk. I would never put a child in my trunk. I just opened it. He was already there. I don't even know how long he's been there—he's breathing, I think he's breathing—"
Inside the trunk, Roe shifted and blinked up, confused.
"He's moving! Ah, well… please come here soon, Residential address in North Crest Heights…"
Pacing wildly, Jason crouched down cautiously.
"Hi," he stammered. "Hello. Ho-How are you here?"
Little Roe rubbed his eyes. "You're not Mama."
"No," Jason immediately nodded. "Definitely not."
Sirens wailed faintly in the distance. Jason's relief lasted exactly four seconds before a second sound layered over it
The controlled purr of multiple high-end engines entering the driveway. The back door opened, and Jason's eyes bulged out.
"M-Mr. Hawthorne?" He staggered in disbelief.
"I... I called the police!" Jason blurted, hands up defensively. "Because there was a child in my trunk! Which I did not put there! I just want that on record!"
Azrael did not look at him.
He stopped at the trunk where Little Roe was blinking against the light.
Something in the air around him shifted. He reached in, lifting the boy into his arms.
Roe tilted his face, groggily.
"…Mama… Where's mama?"
Jason's jaw dropped. The child was Azrael Hawthorne's! He was screwed! Royally screwed!
"We are going to her," he answered quietly.
Little Roe sleepily nodded, leaning into him.
Jason looked between them with growing horror. "I—this is—wh-what is happening?"
Azrael finally glanced at him. Jason immediately wished he had not.
"Cooperate."
He tilted his head at Luka, who was gaping at the mini replica of his boss.