Lucas Voss had spent the entire night staring at a single sheet of paper.
He had not slept.
He had barely moved.
The document lay on his desk beneath the pale light of dawn, its edges worn from being handled too many times.
A birth registry.
Not an official one.
A copy.
At the top was the name of the child.
Wren Calder.
Lucas’s fingers tightened around the paper.
The boy’s face came back to him.
Dark hair.
Sharp eyes.
The same stubborn way of standing with his shoulders squared when challenged.
He had told himself it was coincidence.
He had told himself there were hundreds of children in the territory with similar features.
But the resemblance had become impossible to ignore.
And now there was something worse.
A date.
Wren’s birth date.
Lucas cal
