James had always known Leon's past was complicated, though the boy rarely spoke about it. He was only eight, yet his life had been shaped by pain and abandonment. His parents—cruel, distant people—had left scars that ran deep. The name Kennedy wasn’t even his real one; it was given to him by his first set of guardians. But like so many before and after, they hadn’t stayed.

Leon had been passed from one home to another, each rejection solidifying his belief that no one would ever truly care for him. By the time James found him, Leon had already built walls so high, it was nearly impossible to climb them. James, though, wasn’t deterred. He understood pain, loss, and the need to run from it all. But he also knew he couldn’t let Leon face those feelings alone.

So here he was again—searching for the boy who’d run off into the woods. James’ voice, soft but insistent, called Leon’s name as he moved deeper into the trees. The boy’s habit of running was more than a child’s tantrum—it was a defense mechanism, a way to escape before anyone could abandon him again.

James froze when he heard the sudden rustling ahead. For a brief moment, his heart leapt as a small figure darted between the trees—not far, but fast enough to be out of reach. Leon. James knew that silhouette anywhere.

“Leon!” he called, trying to keep his tone calm despite the panic rising in his chest. But the boy didn’t look back, disappearing deeper into the woods.

James hurried forward, his eyes scanning the forest floor for any sign of where Leon might have gone. Before he could go much further, he nearly bumped into a stranger standing on the path—a passerby he hadn’t noticed before.

They looked at him with concern, gesturing toward the trees. “I just saw someone run past me,” they said, their voice tinged with curiosity and worry. “A little boy. Is that who you’re looking for?”