Vaughn’s blank stare met hers.
There was no spark, no hint of his usual lively spirit. Instead, his face seemed hollow, his small shoulders slumped as if he bore a burden far too heavy for a child to carry.
Amara’s fingers trembled as she reached out, gently pulling him into her arms.
She held him close, burying her face in his hair as her tears slipped free, hot and silent.
She held him tighter, rocking him slowly, hoping to transfer some of her strength, some of her love, into his frail body.
“You’re safe, baby,” she murmured, her voice cracking as she patted his back gently, feeling the weight of her own helplessness.
But Vaughn remained still in her arms, a small, silent figure, his face turned away, his eyes empty of light.
Two days passed.
Each one dragged by in nothing but utter silence.
Vaughn remained withdrawn, his eyes glassy and devoid of any recognition.
Amara tried everything she could think of to reach him, pouring her heart into coaxing him back to her.
She brought his favorite toys, tried reading his favorite stories, even tried cooking his favorite meals, hoping the familiar scents would draw him back.
But nothing seemed to stir him from his daze…
He sat there, motionless, like a living puppet with its strings cut.
Her parents, Vincent and Isabelle, were equally worried.
They watched their grandson with heavy hearts, their expressions grim as they saw how he seemed to slip further away with each passing hour.
Isabelle hovered near him, her fingers brushing through his hair with a motherly tenderness, but the warmth of her touch couldn’t break through Vaughn’s detached state.
Vincent’s silent fury simmered, his hands clenched into fists as he wrestled with the rage boiling within him.
Amara felt helpless, teetering on the edge of despair. She was haunted by the thought of losing Vaughn to this endless void, and she didn’t know what else to do.
She was drowning in a dark sea of fear, feeling as if she were reaching out into the shadows, only to find herself lost in them.
Meanwhile, Rowan sat in his study, the soft glow of his desk lamp casting shadows across his face. He leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping rhythmically against his chin as he looked over at Kyle.
“Any movement?” Rowan’s voice was calm, but his eyes were anything but. They burned with a restrained fury, cold and calculated, a reflection of the storm brewing within him.
Kyle shook his head, his face equally grim. “Those kidnappers haven’t made a move toward any side yet,” he replied, tension evident in his voice.
Rowan’s jaw tightened, though he forced himself to appear unbothered, his demeanor calm and collected. But Kyle could see through the mask..
“And Bianca Gallo?” Rowan’s voice was steely, each word carefully measured.
“They haven’t made any moves either,” Kyle responded, crossing his arms as he shifted uncomfortably. “It’s too quiet. Suspiciously quiet.”
Rowan’s gaze turned colder. “And Dante?”
Kyle hesitated for a moment, reading the unspoken threat in Rowan’s eyes before he continued. “He’s been carrying on with his usual routine, assisting Bianca Gallo, nothing out of the ordinary. But… I’ll keep watching him,” he added quickly.
Rowan’s lips thinned. “Continue monitoring them,” he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.
He looked at Kyle expectantly, sensing there was something left unsaid.
Kyle was caught off guard, as he rubbed the bridge of his nose nervously. He knew Rowan’s silent rage mode all too well and had no desire to provoke it.
“Nothing boss.. That’s all,” he muttered before swiftly turning on his heel and leaving the room, relieved to escape Rowan’s intense scrutiny.
As he was alone now, Rowan glanced at the empty doorway, his mind drifting.
With a sharp exhale, he picked up his phone and stared at the screen, his expression hardening.
His finger hovered over Amara’s name before he finally pressed the call button.
He waited for a while, his heart pounding in his chest as the dial tone droned on, the silence between each ring stretching out was like a thread pulled taut.
Finally, just as the call was about to end, she picked up.
“Hello,” Amara’s voice came through, soft yet strained.
Rowan’s heart clenched, though his tone remained calm. “Hello, Amara,” he replied, pausing for a moment before he asked, “How are you doing?”
There was a slight hesitation on her end, and he could almost feel the weight of her exhaustion through the phone. “I’m fine,” she replied, though he could hear the hollowness in her voice.
He sighed. “Good,” he said softly, understanding the futility of pressing her further. “How’s Vaughn?”
There was another pause, and then he heard her inhale sharply, the sound heavy with unspoken grief. “He… he’s still the same,” she answered, her voice barely a whisper.
Rowan closed his eyes, the words hitting him like a punch to the chest.
“Did he talk?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.
“No…” Her voice was fragile, as if it could shatter at any moment. Rowan’s hand clenched around the phone, his chest tightening with an unfamiliar ache.
There was a silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts, the weight of Vaughn’s situation pressing down on both of them.
Finally, Rowan spoke, his tone resolute. “I’ll pick you two up tomorrow at nine.”
“What.. Why..?” Amara sounded surprised.
“I think.. He needs a change of place,” Rowan said simply, his voice steady.
He understood her hesitation, the concern she held over Vaughn’s safety.
But he knew that keeping Vaughn in the same place, surrounded by the same reminders of whatever horrors he’d faced, would only deepen his trauma.
Amara didn’t respond immediately, her silence filled with unspoken fears.
Rowan sensed her reluctance, her worry, and he wanted to assure her, to take away her pain. “Don’t worry,” he said softly, his voice tinged with an intensity that he couldn’t fully hide. “As long as I’m here, nothing will happen to him. I promise you that.”