Étienne.
They hadn’t spoken in five years.
Five years of silence born from pride, bitterness, and a fight so explosive it had erased everything that came before it. Bastien didn’t even know where Étienne lived anymore—if he was still in Lyon, or if he had vanished entirely.
Bastien crouched down so he was eye level with the boy.
“What’s your name, champ?” he asked gently.
“Leo,” the boy replied without hesitation. “I live over there… with Mrs. Sylvie.”
He pointed toward a familiar ochre-colored building.
The municipal children’s home.
Bastien’s pulse quickened.
A child in foster care. A rare tattoo. And a description that already felt dangerously familiar.
“Do you remember your dad?” Bastien asked carefully. “What was he like?”
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