Chapter 226

Iris

“And you said you last saw your son approximately two hours ago?” the officer asks with his pen poised over his notepad. The red and blue lights from the police cars flash across his face, illuminating his grim expression in the fading evening sun.

“Yes,” I reply, my voice shaking so hard the words barely come out in a comprehensible manner. “I left to teach a children’s art class at the Marsiel Gallery around noon. I was only gone for an hour and a half. In the meantime, Miles was staying with Cliff and Augustine.” I gesture vaguely toward the building behind us, then at Emi, who is standing nearby looking completely distraught, no doubt blaming herself. “My security guard was with me, as she always is.”

“And Augustine is the elderly woman who was found injured?”

I nod, swallowing hard. “Yes. She’s seventy-nine. She has early-stage dementia, but she’s been doing well on her new medication. She hasn’t had an episode in months, and Miles trusts her.”

The officer frowns. “You left your son, the child of the Alpha President, with an elderly woman with dementia and a doorman?”

“This building is highly secure,” I growl, hating his implications. “And we trust Cliff and Augustine completely.”

The officer shakes his head slightly as he writes something down. “And you found Augustine unconscious when you returned home?”

“There was blood around her head. She was lying on the floor in her bedroom.” The image of Augustine’s unmoving body flashes through my mind, and I have to force it away to keep from breaking down in tears. “The EMTs said she likely fell and hit her head on the corner of the nightstand.”

“That’s their best guess for now,” the officer confirms, glancing at his notes. “Did your son have any reason to run away? Has he done this before?”

My throat bobs. “Yes. Once, in a rainstorm last year, he ran out trying to catch a kitten. That should be on record. But he hasn’t done that since then. He’s normally very well behaved,”

The officer nods, jotting that down, too. “And was there anyone or anything he might have been looking for today?”

I shake my head, frustrated. “No. He was fine this morning, just a little tired. And he loves Augustine—he wouldn’t just leave her, especially not if she was hurt.”

The officer nods, but I can tell he’s not convinced. “We’ll need a recent photo of your son and a description of what he was wearing today.”

“I have pictures on my phone,” I say, fumbling in my purse. My hands are shaking so badly that I almost drop it on the lobby floor. “And he was wearing jeans and a blue sweater with dinosaurs on it. And his blue winter coat, probably, if he went outside.”

As I scroll through my photos to find a clear, recent image of Miles, another police officer approaches us. She’s been speaking with one of the neighbors who lives across the hall from Augustine.

“The neighbor says she heard a loud thump from Augustine’s apartment around one-fifty,” the female officer reports. “She didn’t think much of it at the time, assumed someone had dropped something.”

“That was probably when Augustine fell,” the first officer says, making another note. “So we have a rough timeline at least. Sounds like your son hasn’t been missing for long.”

That’s not much of a relief, though. I hand over my phone, showing them a picture of Miles from just last week, smiling widely with Scout in his arms. “This is him. Please, you have to find him. He’s just a little boy.”

“We’re doing everything we can, ma’am,” the female officer assures me gently. “We’ve already put out an alert, and officers are canvassing the area. Does your son have any particular places he likes to go? Friends’ houses, playgrounds, stores?”

I try to think through the fog of panic. “There’s… There’s a playground right next door. He likes to go there. And there’s an ice cream shop down the street that we visit sometimes. But I really don’t think he ran away.”

“We’ll check all those places,” the officer promises. “In the meantime, it would be helpful if you could stay here in case he comes back on his own.”

The thought of just sitting and waiting makes me want to scream. “I can’t just do nothing. I need to look for him too.”

“Ma’am, I understand your concern, but the best thing you can do right now is—”

“Iris!”

I whirl around at the sound of Arthur’s voice. He’s running toward us from the parking lot. I nearly collapse with relief at the sight of him.

“Arthur,” I choke out as he reaches me, immediately pulling me into his arms. “Miles is missing.”

“What happened?” he demands, looking from me to the officers. “Where’s our son?”

“Mr. President,” the officers say almost in unison.

One officer gives a brief rundown of what we know so far—which isn’t much. Augustine was found unconscious, Miles nowhere to be found, and it’s possible that he wandered off and she fell trying to catch him.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Arthur says firmly, his arm still around my shoulders. “Miles wouldn’t just leave, especially if Augustine was hurt.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling them,” I say.

“Sir, with all due respect, children this age often don’t think logically,” the male officer begins. “If he was scared when she fell—”

“No,” Arthur cuts him off. “Not Miles. Something else happened here.”

The officer looks like he wants to argue, but at that moment, Cliff comes hurrying out of the back office with a laptop tucked under his arm.

“Iris, Arthur,” he calls, slightly out of breath. “I’ve got something you need to see.”

The officers exchange glances as Cliff joins our small group.

“Security footage,” Cliff explains, opening the laptop. “I installed cameras at all the entrances after that break-in last year, remember?”

Arthur nods impatiently. “And?”

“I checked the footage from today,” Cliff continues, navigating through some files. “And I found this.”

He turns the laptop so we can all see the screen. It shows the back entrance of our building, the one that leads out to the small garden area and the parking lot beyond. The timestamp in the corner reads 1:53 PM.

At first, nothing happens. Then, the door opens, and my heart leaps to my throat as Miles appears, his blue dinosaur sweater clearly visible. He’s walking normally, not running, and he’s holding hands with someone—a tall man in a dark hoodie with the hood pulled up. The man’s face is largely obscured, both by the hood and what appears to be a surgical mask covering the lower half of his face.

“Who the hell is that?” Arthur growls, leaning closer to the screen.

“Keep watching,” Cliff says grimly.

As the pair start to walk away from the building, the man glances up—directly at the camera. For a brief moment, his eyes are clearly visible, and I feel a jolt run through me.

“Pause it,” I whisper, and Cliff obliges.

We all stare at the frozen image. The man’s eyes are a distinctive shade of green—the exact same color as Arthur’s.

“That can’t be…” Arthur murmurs, looking between the screen and me in confusion.

“It’s not you,” I say, stating the obvious. “You were at work.”

“Then who…?” Arthur begins, but trails off as the realization hits him at the same moment it hits me.

The height, the build, the eyes that match Arthur’s exactly. It can’t be a coincidence. Miles must have seen this man and thought he was Arthur, but he wasn’t.

“Silas,” I breathe. “It has to be Silas.”