Next morning, Amara got ready first, and then she got Vaughn ready.
Vaughn sat on the edge of his bed, his small frame appearing smaller still, as if the trauma had hollowed him out, leaving only a fragile shell.
With every soft tug of his shirt, each gentle stroke of his hair, Amara tried to reach him, hoping for even a flicker of the spark he used to have.
But Vaughn’s gaze remained fixed somewhere far away, and it took every ounce of her resolve not to let her tears fall.
“Here, baby,” she whispered as she lifted a spoonful of warm oatmeal to his lips.
He opened his mouth and she guided the spoon gently, watching as he swallowed without expression, without a single indication that he even noticed her.
She forced herself to stay strong, to hold back the storm roiling inside her chest. He needed her steady now more than ever.
After breakfast, she leaned close to him, her voice soft but bright with forced cheer. “Baby, do you want to go out today?”
Her question lingered in the air, unanswered. Vaughn’s eyes remained unfocused, lost in the vast, empty distance of his mind.
She glanced up to see her mother, Isabelle, watching them from the doorway, her expression as solemn as the morning.
“Amara,” Isabelle’s voice was low, tense with worry. “You should stay at home. It’s not safe to go out, especially after what just happened..”
Amara felt the weight of her mother’s concerns pressing on her, but she couldn’t allow Vaughn to stay imprisoned in his own home. “Mom,” she replied gently, her tone holding an edge of quiet determination, “I think Vaughn needs a change of environment, and Lucas will be with us.”
Isabelle’s mouth tightened, her worry deepening, but Vincent, Amara’s father, placed a hand on her shoulder, calming her. “Let her take Vaughn out,” he said with quiet conviction. “Maybe it will do him some good.”
“But…” Isabelle’s gaze shifted between Vaughn and Amara, clearly torn between her fear and her desire to see Vaughn return to himself.
She wanted to protest, to shelter her grandson, but a glimmer of hope had already started to settle in her eyes.
“I promise I’ll protect him,” Amara reassured her mother. “Nothing will happen to him. Not while I’m here.”
She held her mother’s gaze, letting her own resolve speak louder than words.
Isabelle nodded finally, though her face held the heavy weight of doubt and fear.
Minutes later, after placing a kiss on Vaughn’s small forehead, Amara carried him up and walked to the car where Lucas waited.
He opened the door for her, and Amara settled Vaughn into the back seat beside her, wrapping her arms around him as though to shield him from the world.
“Drive,” she instructed, her tone leaving no room for hesitation.
Lucas glanced at her in the rearview mirror as he started the car, his face a mask of professional calm, though his eyes flickered with doubt. “Miss,” he began carefully, “are you sure… we’re trusting him?”
Amara’s hand reached out instinctively, her fingers smoothing down Vaughn’s hair. Her voice was resolute. “For Vaughn, yes.”
Lucas nodded, understanding but not entirely convinced.
They drove in silence.
Amara kept her gaze fixed on the road ahead..
When they finally arrived in front of Rowan’s home, Amara felt a slight knot of tension release.
Lucas parked the car and looked at her, as if giving her one last chance to change her mind, but she ignored his stare.
This wasn’t about trust… it was about Vaughn, about doing anything and everything to bring him back.
She saw Rowan waiting by the house, and he approached slowly.
He tapped gently on the car window, and Amara took a deep breath before stepping out.
Rowan’s gaze softened as he saw her.
His glance drifted briefly to Vaughn, who was still sitting, expressionless and unseeing in the back seat.
He remembered how cheerful Vaughn was, when he first saw him in Venice..
And now.. he looked fragile in a way that set something fierce alight within Rowan.. a desire to protect, to find whoever had done this, and to make them pay.
“Let’s go.” he asked quietly, his voice carrying an undertone of quiet understanding.
Amara’s shoulders tensed, and she nodded. “Yes..”
He met her gaze steadily. “I won’t let anything happen to him. I’ll make sure of it.”
Rowan opened the door and, with surprising gentleness, lifted Vaughn into his arms.
For a moment, Vaughn looked up, his eyes flickering with the barest hint of awareness before they dimmed once more.
Amara’s heart wrenched at the sight, but she steeled herself, refusing to let any weakness show.
Inside the house, Rowan guided them into a quiet, sunlit room with walls painted a warm shade of gray. A small couch was set up near a large window overlooking the garden.
Rowan carefully set Vaughn down on the couch, and the boy curled into himself, his face a mask of empty numbness.
Amara sat beside him, her fingers running softly through his hair, every stroke an unspoken promise that she would be here, waiting for him whenever he chose to return to her.
Rowan observed quietly, the silent fury in his gaze unmistakable as he took in Vaughn’s hollow stare. The boy’s silence, his stillness.. it was like a scream that none of them could hear, a cry for help trapped in the prison of his mind.
Rowan looked away, his jaw tight, and spoke to Amara in a low voice. “I’ve already contacted some of my people. They’re still monitoring the kidnappers, and I’m going to get every lead I can on who was behind this.”
His eyes met hers, fierce and unyielding. “I’ll find them, Amara. I swear to you.”
She looked back at him, a flicker of gratitude in her eyes, though her focus never left Vaughn. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears.
She didn’t have to say more.. Rowan understood the weight of her gratitude, the desperation behind her calm facade.
He moved a little closer to her, a steady presence by her side. “Take as much time as you need,” he murmured. “If you want to stay here with him, you’re welcome.”
Amara nodded, pulling Vaughn gently against her. “I think… he might feel safer here.” Her voice was so soft it was almost a whisper. “Maybe it will help him… to know we’re somewhere new.”
Rowan’s expression softened, and he reached out, a strong hand resting reassuringly on her shoulder. “We’ll get him through this,” he said, his voice a quiet but powerful promise. “Whatever it takes.”
The three of them sat in the stillness of that room, the morning light casting a gentle glow that seemed almost too peaceful for the depth of pain each of them bore.
After a while, Rowan’s phone rang.