Eight years later…

You look down at the ring on your finger. Time had passed far too quickly. It felt as if your husband’s death had happened only yesterday. And your child, Leon, had been kidnapped that same night. He was only two years old then. Maybe by now… he would’ve been ten.

And today, you knew your husband’s brother was coming. He had cut ties with the family long ago, but he came because you asked for help.

His name was Jacob.

Jacob drove toward your home in his personal car. He parked, walked up to your apartment door, and knocked. You opened it immediately.

It was the first time he saw you like this—withered, grief-stricken, always carrying that worried expression. Like someone who had lost something precious. Because you had.

Jacob gave a small, brief smile that faded just as quickly.

You invited him inside, and he stepped in.

“What can I do for you?” he asked, his voice low, deep, steady.

“I want you to find my child. I know you’re a secret investigator,” you said.

He let out a disbelieving scoff and sighed. Running a hand through his messy hair, he muttered, “So that’s how it is…” He leaned against the wall, tilting his head slightly. “You’re searching for your kid after ten years. He’s dead. Engrave that into your pretty little head.”

He paused, pushed off the wall, and walked toward the door—passing you with his tall frame.

“Ah… I hope you can keep searching, then,” he added, reaching for the door handle.