As you and Finny strolled through the bustling mall, people hurried around in every direction. Finny tugged on your sleeve. “Hey, can I have some ice cream?” he asked sweetly.

“No, I’m sorry—” you began, but he cut you off, his voice insistent.

“But Papa and I always get ice cream,” he said, putting on a small pout. You sighed and nodded. “Fine, fine.”

While you were getting the ice cream, you picked a mint chip for yourself. Just as you were about to hand it to Finny, he suddenly darted away. Panic gripped you as Oswald’s threat echoed in your mind: “If you fail to protect my son, let’s just say you won’t be able to walk for two weeks.”

You grunted softly and sprinted after him. To your horror, you saw Finny being pulled into a van parked just outside the mall entrance. The vehicle sped off