I froze.
Mia was gone.
When I left her room last night, she had been lying in bed, drinking milk.
How could she vanish overnight
I forced myself to calm down and hurried toward the west wing.
Father was already standing outside Mia’s room, his face livid. Mother had collapsed into a chair in the hallway, sobbing uncontrollably.
Dr. Harrison came out of the room, looking even worse than Father.
“Mr. Felipe,” he said in a low voice, “Miss Mia’s room was locked from the outside. When we broke in, all that was left on the bed was… this.”
He handed over a note.
I stepped closer to look.
There was only one sentence, written in red ink
“Your daughter is at Genesis Clinic now.”
No signature.
But the handwriting was familiar.
Russian cursive.
The Kovalenkos.
Father snatched the note
