119
Finally, the school came into view. It loomed ahead like a fortress, a massive structure of steel and glass rising high into the Manhattan skyline. It was the kind of school that screamed prestige, the kind that housed children of hedge fund managers, diplomats, and tech moguls—where tuition cost more than what most people made in a year. The modern design was sleek, all reflective surfaces and sharp angles, with tall iron gates that made it clear they didn’t welcome just anyone. There were security cameras at every corner, red-blinking sentinels that watched every movement.
The entrance was a set of wide double doors, flanked by neatly trimmed hedges and a security booth where a guard in a navy uniform leaned lazily against the frame, tapping at his phone. Kids still poured out of the building, some climbing into sleek black town cars idling along the curb, others dashing down the steps to waiting nannies or parents.
I exhaled sharply, my heart a fist slamming against my ribs.
Two years.
Two years since I had seen my son.
Last time, he had been eight—small, bright-eyed, still carrying the softness of childhood. Now he was ten, and in just two years, children changed. They grew. I had tried not to think about it, to shove the grief down where it couldn’t consume me, but standing here now, hidden behind a row of parked cars, I felt it—sharp, suffocating. I had missed birthdays. School recitals. Every laugh, every scraped knee, every lost tooth. I hadn’t even demanded pictures. Hadn’t allowed myself to see him through a screen because I thought it would make this easier.
And now? Now I was regretting it. Because I barely had idea what my son looked like anymore.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself back to the present. “We need a plan,” I muttered. “If they’re coming for him, things won’t be easy. I can’t just walk in there and snatch him up. They might be watching.”
Valentina stood next to me, her sharp blue eyes scanning the school grounds, the steel fence, the teachers ushering lingering students toward waiting vehicles. She tilted her head slightly, as if considering something, then glanced at me. “I’ll go in,” she said smoothly. “I’ll find him.”
I snapped my gaze to her. “You think you can just waltz in there and—”
“Yes.” She cut me off, her accent thick, unwavering. “Give me his description.”
I hesitated, but we didn’t have time. “Brunette hair,” I said quickly. “Green eyes.”
Valentina stared at me like I was an idiot. “Brunette hair and green eyes? Eleanor, that is half the boys in that school. Do better.”
I clenched my jaw, mind racing, trying to recall details that felt like they had slipped through my fingers. “He had a small scar,” I offered, but then immediately second-guessed myself. “Or maybe that was when he was younger. I—I don’t know if it’s still visible. He—” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him for two years.”
Valentina’s expression didn’t change, but something in her gaze softened. Just a fraction. “Two years is a long time,” she said, almost like she understood. Then she sighed, shaking her head. “Okay. What is his name?”
“Adam,” I whispered, then forced my voice to be stronger. “Adam Hayes.”
She nodded once, decisively. Then she slipped off her watch and handed it to me. It was heavy in my palm, smooth, expensive. A classic Cartier, understated but luxurious, the kind of thing that cost more than my rent used to. She tapped the dial. “Ten minutes,” she said. “If I’m not back, you come in.”
I clenched my fingers around it, my mouth dry. “And then?”
“Then we take him, by force if we have to.” Valentina’s voice was calm, as if she were discussing a dinner reservation and not the possibility of kidnapping my son in broad daylight. “You be ready. If things go bad, you get the car, and you drive. You run over people if you need to.”
I snapped my head toward her, horrified. “I—”
But before I could protest, she pressed the keys into my palm and turned, walking briskly toward the school building without looking back.
I inhaled sharply, spinning around to scan the street. Cops still lingered in the city, milling about, their presence a constant, shifting threat. They hadn’t paid us any attention yet, but that could change in an instant. I needed to blend in. To disappear.
The heat of the afternoon clung to my skin, thick and humid, a stark contrast to the biting chill that had lingered in the morning. The scent of exhaust and pavement filled my nose as I shifted uneasily, keeping my head low. I pressed my back against a lamppost, pretending to check my phone, my fingers gripping Valentina’s watch so tightly my knuckles ached.
Minutes dragged.
I forced myself to breathe, to stay calm, but the anxiety clawed at me, unrelenting. Every car that slowed, every uniformed officer that passed, sent my pulse skyrocketing. I could feel the sweat gathering at the nape of my neck, my nerves stretched so tight I thought they might snap.
A group of mothers stood near the entrance, chatting idly while their children clung to their skirts. A man in a navy suit walked by, glancing down at his Rolex before stepping into a black town car. A woman in gym clothes jogged past, earbuds in, completely oblivious to the way my entire world felt like it was teetering on a knife’s edge.
Ten minutes.
Ten minutes felt like an eternity.
I checked the watch. Five had passed.
I swallowed, glancing toward the school doors, my foot tapping anxiously against the pavement.
Still no sign of Valentina.
The waiting was unbearable. Every instinct in my body screamed at me to move, to do something, but I forced myself to stay put. To trust her.
But if she wasn’t out in five more minutes, I was going in.
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