“Perimeter patrol spotted a vehicle,” the guard says. “Circled the property three times. Didn’t stop.”
My hand closes around Nico instinctively, pulling him closer.
He looks up at me, startled. “Mama?”
“I know,” I say softly. “It’s okay.”
Across from me, Turo changes. The man holding a breakfast tray vanishes. His spine straightens. His face shutters. Whatever warmth had leaked through last night is gone, replaced by something cold and lethal and fully awake.
“How long ago?” he asks.
“Ten minutes.”
“Did it stop?”
“No.”
“Increase patrols,” Turo says. “I want cameras on every approach. Log everything. If it comes back, I want to know before it finishes the first circle.”
“Yes, sir.”
The guard disappears. The room feels smaller. More real.
Turo turns back to me, his voice lower now. “This is why you’re here.”
I hate that he’s right. Hate the way my fear eases just a fraction, knowing there are gates and men and weapons standing between my son and whoever was circling. Hate that safety tastes like borrowed eggs and a man I don’t altogether trust watching my child like he’s just discovered a miracle.
I watch Turo watch Nico. The hunger. The fear. The wonder.
He wants his son as badly as I want to protect him.
And I still don’t know if that makes Turo the safest place in the world, or the most dangerous one.
