“Mason!”

A woman in her early fifties hurried toward them, worry etched deep into her face. She gently pulled the boy closer, protective but calm.

“How many times have I told you not to wander off?”

She turned to Lucas.

“I’m sorry, officer. He’s very curious.”

Lucas noticed the way she held Mason’s hand—firm, practiced, loving.

“It’s alright,” Lucas said quietly.

Mason tugged on his sleeve.

“Ms. Harper, look! He has the same tattoo as my dad.”

The woman’s eyes dropped to Lucas’s arm.

And all the color drained from her face.

She tightened her grip on Mason immediately.

“We’re leaving. Now.”

Lucas stood.

“Please,” he said. “May I ask you something about his father? I think I might be able to help.”

She studied him—cautious, tired, the look of someone who had learned not to trust easily.

“Do you know someone with that tattoo?”

“My brother. He has the same one.”

She hesitated.

“What’s his name?”

“Ryan Reed.”

She exhaled slowly, as if she’d been holding her breath for years.

“Come inside,” she said. “We need to talk.”

The File That Changed Everything

The office inside the residence was simple and clean. Ms. Harper closed the door while Mason joined other children in the playroom.

“Mason has been with us for two years,” she began. “He was found alone near the downtown transit station. He kept repeating one name.”

Lucas already knew the answer.

“Ryan,” she said softly.

His stomach dropped.

“His mother?”

“She came days later. Exhausted. Pregnant again at the time. She said she needed time. She still calls once a month from different phones. Always asks if Mason is eating, growing. Never says where she is.”

Lucas ran a hand through his hair.

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