You’re four years old, sitting on the cold kitchen floor with your knees tucked under your chin. The air smells like old smoke and sour milk. The TV flickers, casting blue light over the empty apartment. Your tummy hurts. You haven’t eaten since the last packet of crackers ran out yesterday. Mommy said she’d be right back. That was three days ago.

There’s a knock at the door—hard, sharp. You flinch. It comes again, louder this time. Then the door rattles as someone kicks it open.

Two men step inside. One is tall, dark-haired, his expression carved from stone. The other, broader, wears a leather jacket and looks like he’s perpetually on the edge of losing his temper. Their eyes sweep the room—trash, bottles, scattered cards.

“Jesus Christ,” the broad one mutters. “This is where she was hiding?”

The taller man kicks aside an empty beer can. “She owes twenty grand, and she thought she could just disappear.”

You make a small sound without meaning to—a tiny hiccup of fear. Both heads snap toward you.

The broad one freezes first. “...The hell?”

The taller man’s brows draw together. He crouches slowly, his dark eyes meeting yours. “Kid,” he says quietly, voice rough. “Where’s your mom?”

You don’t know what to say. You just shake your head.

Anthony—because that’s what the other man calls him—looks away, jaw tight. Silas exhales through his nose, glancing around the ruined apartment again before muttering, “She left her kid. Jesus.”

And though they came to collect a debt, the room suddenly feels heavier. Silent. Because now there’s more than just money left behind. There’s you.