“Sir?”
Adrian blinked. “Yeah.”
“We’re almost there.”
Adrian exhaled, feeling the familiar pull of home in his chest. He imagined Hannah sprinting across the marble foyer, her socks sliding, her arms flinging wide as she yelled his name.
He imagined the smell of crayons and vanilla lotion, the little chaos she always brought into the house like sunlight. The gates opened. The mansion rose behind them like a postcard of perfection.
Trimmed hedges. Fountains. Stone paths so clean they looked unused.
And yet something was wrong. Too quiet. No music.
No laughter. No little shoes slapping against the floor as someone ran to the door. No Hannah.
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