–Tyrona–
Again, the twins weren't in the mansion. Nor was Sky.
I received a tip that Sky had gone on a trip with his father. I may have provided a few insights that led to that little excursion—but it was never my intention to involve the boy directly. I don't want him hurt. Not at all.
As my own son grows more talkative, more cheerful, more playful—sleeping soundly through the night instead of waking in tears—I find myself unwilling to eliminate an innocent child. Not when he is useful. Not when he matters to Andro.
I sat beside my son and gently caressed his hair. He was pouting again. He has been asking about Sky endlessly, his little voice repeating the name like a chant.
I tried calling Damon. The call wouldn't go through.
I tried Laura. Nothing.
Silence.
When we arrived home, a nanny and a butler from the Braxton household were already waiting beside a sleek black car. The engine hummed softly, polished metal gleaming under the afternoon sun.
