Leo clung to Bastien’s sleeve. “Mrs. Sylvie, look. He has the same tattoo as my dad.”
Sylvie’s face drained of color.
She tightened her grip on Leo’s hand. “We’re going inside. Now.”
Bastien stood. “Please—wait. If you’ll allow it… I think I might be able to help.”
She hesitated, studying him. Exhaustion lined her face—the kind that comes from years of managing heartbreak.
“Do you know someone with that tattoo?” she asked.
“My brother,” Bastien replied. “His name is Étienne Moreau.”
Sylvie exhaled slowly, as if releasing a breath she’d been holding for years.
“Come with me,” she said quietly. “We need to talk.”
Inside, the home was modest but immaculate. Sylvie led Bastien into a small office and closed the door while Leo ran off to play.
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