The peace lasted until mid-morning. A man appeared at the reception desk, early forties, neat haircut, clean coat, eyes rimmed with practiced worry. “I’m here for my daughter,” he said, voice smooth. “They told me she was brought here last night.” The clerk hesitated. “Your name, sir?” “Douglas Ryan,” he replied, handing over papers.
The documents looked official—birth certificate, custody affidavit, school ID photo. He even had a framed picture of a little girl. To the untrained eye, everything fit. But Elena noticed Valorian’s unnatural alertness. The man’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. It was the kind that had too much calculation.