Freya
On the ride home, my fingers wouldn’t stop tracing the edge of my sleeve. My forehead pressed against the cool glass of the car window, watching the city blur past in streaks of amber and white. There was no music or conversation.
Home.
I wondered if that was the right word for that castle. Is it home if I’m going to be living with someone who might have potentially kidn*pped my baby in the past.
My mind flashed back to the video detective lockjaw had sent to me. It was a CCTV footage from a roadside diner.
The camera had caught a tall, striking man walking out though a dark alley with what seemed to be a baby, covered in a cloth, in his hands.
The video quality was old and too grainy fir me to make out the person's face, but the physique and outfit only reminded me of on
