By morning, she called her old friend, Detective Rachel Monroe, who had once led the investigation. “Rachel,” Julia said, voice trembling, “I think I found him.”
They met near the bakery that afternoon. Hours passed before the boy appeared again, dragging a torn backpack. Julia followed quietly until he stopped at a small café. She approached gently. “Hey there,” she said softly. “You look cold. Can I get you something to eat?”
He hesitated, then nodded. Inside, as he devoured pancakes, she asked, “What’s your name?”
“Aiden,” he said quietly. “That’s what the lady who took care of me called me.”
Julia’s heart stopped. “Where is she now?”
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