"Stay here with Ace. I'll be back soon," Rhett says, glancing at his son seated in the backseat. One hand rests on the steering wheel of the car.
Rhean, about to unstrap the seatbelt of his booster seat, pauses mid-motion.
Before he can respond, he sees his father already opening the door and stepping out of the Jeep.
"But I want to go too..." he mumbles to himself.
Ace, sitting in the passenger seat with his face buried in his phone, hears him anyway.
He glances at the rectangular rearview mirror, catching the reflection of the child's pouting face.
His lips curl into a smirk—he finds Rhean adorable. A miniature version of their infamously grumpy, scary leader: Czar.
"Don't be sad, little guy. Your dad'll be back in a jiffy," he reassures, already glued back to his bright screen. His thumbs dance across the surface in an endless diversion of adventure.
Game clashes mingle with the cricket chirps and frog zings of the monsoon night.
They're parked before Elk's classic white Cape Cod house, its steep-pitched roof made of cedar shingles. By day, grey and white pixelate beneath the awning—but now, it's swallowed in black.
The sky is bare of moon and stars.
Only the porch light filters out, illuminating the freshly mown lawn, the large trees looming around the house, the cherished garden still damp from rain.
Rhean fiddles with the seatbelt, his tiny fist gripping and twisting it.
Big round eyes peer ahead with anticipation at the entrance door.
After he was found, he was taken straight to the hospital—but the old doctor with a scruffy, greying beard told him he was fine. Just a little malnourished.
He had freshened up, changed into warm new clothes, then had dinner with his father and his uncle Ace. On the way to the hospital, Sky had taken a cab home, while Zoro was taken to a veterinary clinic.
Now Rhean's legs dangle, swinging restlessly and grazing the front seat. After a long moment of deliberation, he glances at Ace, who's still buried in his phone.
Then—after one last fidget with the belt—he peels it off and grabs the door handle.
He jumps down—only to splatter mud all over himself.
He looks down, lips pursed at the sight of sludge pooling on the softened ground.
His new clothes are soiled. His new shoes ruined.
Still, he fists up his pants and makes long zigzag strides toward the house, trying to only step on the driest patches of earth.
"Yes!" Ace suddenly yells from the car, one hand holding his phone, the other forming a victorious fist-pump.
He beams—then glances over his shoulder. His expression drops.
An empty backseat.
Frantically scanning the windows, he spots a tiny head peeking past the entrance door.
Ace huffs, then scoffs.
"The kid really dared to disobey me?" Slipping the phone into his jeans pocket, he steps out of the car.
"And that is why," he mutters, "I'll always hate kids," slamming the car door shut.
---
"It's good you found him," Elk says, standing at the doorway of Rhean's room—while Rhett is silently packing the boy's clothes.
Rhett doesn't reply.
He keeps pulling clothes from the wardrobe, stuffing them into a suitcase.
He scans the room and gathers toys from the storage box, school supplies, anything Rhean might need. The two large suitcases are overfilled, zippers bursting.
Elk sighs.
"Look, I know I let you down.
But isn't it rash to move everything out? He'll be back in a few days anyway."
"He's never coming back," Rhett replies, standing tall as he grips the suitcases and begins wheeling them out.
Elk frowns, suspicion creeping over his features. "What do you mean? Where will he stay when you're on duty?"
Rhett looks down at him.
"You'll get my resignation letter tomorrow." His voice is cold. Towering, unshakable.
"Move," he commands.
Elk steps aside, unflinching. His breath comes out as a tired sigh. He follows Rhett down the stairs.
"Wait a minute, Czar!" Elk calls when Rhett reaches the living room.
Rhett halts.
"You're not thinking clearly," Elk says, his tone cold and flat.
"Stand down and take the week to compose yourself. I expect you back on duty—sharp—by Monday.
Hopefully, by then, you'll have recovered whatever good sense you've lost."
Rhett turns, eyes sharp and voice low.
"Has shame ever managed to penetrate that thick skull of yours?"
Elk winces, a hot wave of dizziness slicing through his head.
"For God's sake, Czar," he snaps, voice tight with strain. "This isn't some delusional crusade—just you and that damned woman against the world. Wake up."
Rhett clenches his jaw, eyes dark. "I've stomached your crooked charade long enough. Now that you've dropped the act—and spat on the only reason I stayed—I'm done playing your games," he says, stepping toward the door without a glance.
Elk scoffs, stepping forward.
"You really think you can find her without the agency's reach?
She's dead, Czar—and somehow, she's still ruining you."
"Enough." Rhett's voice is a low growl.
But the head of EIS doesn't notice the force behind it—doesn't recognize the gutted breath in Rhett's chest with every humiliation Elk throws against her.
His knuckles whiten from how tightly he grips the luggage—his silence louder than any threat.
Elk meets his eyes, unbothered.
"Not another word," Rhett warns, eyes bloodshot with cold fury.
"Dada?"
A soft voice cuts through the tension.
Both men turn to see Rhean standing at the doorway, glancing between them anxiously. His little legs stiffen in fear.
Rhett exhales, eyes closed. "Come on. We're leaving."
"I want to say goodbye to Grandpa," Rhean says, eyes drifting to the suitcases.
Every time his father came home, they spent time in their apartment. There were never this many bags.
Most days, he stayed with Grandpa and the caretaker when Dada was away.
"Be quick," Rhett replies.
Rhean beams. The smile softens Rhett's hardened gaze.
"Okay!" the boy chirps, racing toward Elk.
"Where'd you go, you cub?" Elk scolds, arms crossed—then melts as Rhean throws his arms around him.
"I'm sorry, Grandpa. I missed you," Rhean drawls with a grin.
Elk scoffs, but the sparkle in the boy's eyes makes him chuckle.
"You little rascal," he mutters, bending to scoop him into his arms.
"Good gracious, you've lost a chunk of fat!" he exclaims, making Rhean giggle.
"Then next time, you'll have to feed me this much strawberry ice cream!" Rhean exclaims, spreading his arms wide.
"Such a glutton," Elk murmurs, his smile fading. A quiet ache swells inside him.
This child's giggles, his warmth—will never grace this house again.
Ace appears at the doorway, but Rhett wordlessly passes him the luggage and gestures for him to return to the car.
"It's getting late, Rhean," Rhett says, holding the door open.
"Yes, Dada." Rhean slides down from Elk's arms.
Elk bends to his height, locking eyes with him. His voice softens.
"Listen, my child. Don't ever pull this stunt again, you hear me? You nearly gave your father a heart attack."
Rhean nods, tiny fingers fidgeting.
He wonders if he caused the fight—but doesn't ask.
"Good," Elk says, ruffling his hair.
Rhean smiles up at him—so bright, so foolishly warm.
"Now go. Don't stay up late," Elk murmurs, his eyes dim as he glances toward Rhett's grim silhouette by the door.
"Bye-bye!" Rhean chirps, turning back to wave.
"Bye-bye, my child," Elk whispers, waving back at the boy who had made this house feel alive.
And just like that, the light leaves with him.
Czar had taken his revenge—not in rage, but in silence. He punished Elk with hollowness. A tease. A goodbye painted as a farewell gift. A sunshine stolen before morning.
What now?
Rhean felt like his own, but Elk could never compete with the bond of blood between father and son.
So he sniffs.
A tear slips down—one he thought had dried years ago.
Did he not have a heart?
Czar took Rhean without mercy, when he was the one who had raised the child—while the father was still madly chasing a woman whose presence now feels hopeless.
Czar is destroying himself.
And Elk fears—God forbid—he might destroy the ones who love him too.
And now, regret blackens his heart.
Knowing Czar, Rhean will never return.
He may never see him again.
---
As Rhett secures Rhean's seatbelt—half his body leaned into the backseat—the boy suddenly gasps.
Rhett looks up, brow raised.
"What's wrong?"
"I forgot to tell Grandpa about Zoro," Rhean says, frowning—then quickly brightens.
"I'll just surprise him with Zoro later!" he adds, grinning.
Rhett double-checks the belt, gives the boy one last look—then quietly shuts the door and slides into the driver's seat.
Rhean doesn't have to know.
Not tonight.
He won't be stepping on Elk's property again.