Adrien's pov-
It was strange walking home alone.
The silence felt louder than the traffic. The city glowed like it always did—pretending everything was normal, that people didn't vanish, that shadows didn't move when you weren't looking.
Mom had a meeting. Just one. One hour. "I'll send the car," she said, worried like always. But I told her no.
I wanted to walk. I wanted space. Just today.
I wish I hadn't.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from her. Almost done, baby. You okay?
I started typing back when a hand clamped down over my mouth and something sharp pressed into my neck.
"Make a sound and I'll slit your throat."
Everything went black.
---
When I woke up, it was cold.
Not like winter cold—colder. Like something had died in the walls and no one cared enough to clean it. My arms were chained behind my back. My mouth was dry. My head was pounding.
And then I heard it.
Coughing. Weak. Guttural.
I turned my head and saw him.
"Dad?"
He looked like a ghost. Paler. Thinner. His eyes sunken, his wrists bruised and cut where the chains dug in. His hair had grown out, messy and dull. But it was him. It was him.
"Adrien…" His voice cracked like it had forgotten how to speak. "No. Not you. God, not you."
I stared at him, chest tightening. "It's really you?"
He nodded. Barely.
My throat burned. I couldn't breathe. All this time. All these years. And he was here—alive, hurting, broken.
Then came the laugh. That awful, crawling laugh.
Nolan stepped forward.
"I told you. Reunited." He smiled like it was a joke. "Family's important, after all."
His eyes landed on me, filled with something twisted and triumphant. "She loves you so much, doesn't she? Like you're a prince. She kisses your forehead. Packs your lunch. Hugs you like she's afraid you'll disappear. Disgusting."
"She's my mother," I spat.
"She was mine." His voice broke on the word. "Before either of you. And then Alex got her. And you—you took the last piece of her."
I barely flinched when he hit me again.
My dad roared, lunging in his chains. "Touch him again, Nolan—"
He did. Harder.
But this time, I didn't cry out. I didn't flinch. I just looked at Alex.
When Nolan finally left, locking the door behind him, I dragged myself over to my dad's corner, the chains clinking like metal ghosts.
For a long second, we didn't speak.
Then Alex's voice came—shaky, hoarse. "You've grown."
I choked on a laugh. "Yeah. You've… not aged well."
That earned the smallest smile from him. But then he looked at me, really looked, and his expression shattered.
"I missed everything," he whispered. "First heartbreak. Your first win on the debate team. I missed you growing into this… man."
I swallowed. "You're here now."
He closed his eyes. "I don't deserve to be."
"You didn't leave," I whispered. "All this time—I thought… Mom cried every night. I thought you chose to leave."
"I would never."
My voice cracked. "She still sets a place for you at dinner sometimes."
Alex didn't answer. He just leaned forward, chains groaning, until his forehead touched mine.
And for the first time since I was ten, I let myself cry.
We stayed like that, two ghosts in the dark, clinging to the only warmth left.
And above us, somewhere far away, I swore I could still hear my mother calling my name.