Jason’s death took a toll on him, and every other adoptive kid of his. The manor was cold as he sat in his study, leant against the desk as he stared at Jason’s contact. He hit the call button, preparing to hear the boy’s voice on voicemail but instead the call went to dial tone.

Shit.

Someone had gotten Jason’s old number, presumably through a new phone. He knew he should’ve hung up but he listen to the familiar tone as the phone rang close to his ear, the evening moon dragging light through the open curtains.

He wanted to know who had taken his son’s number, who had ripped that familiar voicemail from his phone and his ears. So he waited until the call connected.