William found out about the kidnapped children the same way everyone else did—on the evening news. The story had already seeped into every corner of the city: whispered in grocery lines, mumbled on buses, slurred over drinks long after midnight. Only the police seemed to know more—but even they, judging by the hollow confidence of their press conference, were stumbling in the dark.
He sat motionless before the screen, a dull ache building behind his eyes. He told himself to stay out of it, to leave the investigation to professionals. Yet something in the reporters' strained voices, in the vagueness of the details, crawled under his skin.
And then there was Milagros.
Even when unseen, her presence lingered behind him—a shadow that breathed against his neck, whispering, demanding. The mental link between them had grown stronger these past few weeks, thickening around his thoughts until they weren't entirely his own anymore.
