FAR GONE

Chapter 22

I still couldn’t believe it. My son—my little boy was accused of killing someone? No, it wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be.

The woman who had lost her son was thrashing against the officers, pointing at me with venom. Her voice cracked as she demanded my child be dragged out and handed to her.

“Ma’am, please,” the officer said firmly, holding her back by the arms. “I understand your pain, but you should allow us to take it from here. The investigation is ongoing, and the boy is in custody. I need you to calm down.”

She resisted, cursing, screaming through tears, but eventually the officer managed to guide her away, his tone steady but commanding. He turned to me next, his eyes heavy with the kind of pity I didn’t want.

“Mr. Kael,” he said, “you’ll need to follow us to the station. We have procedures to follow. Your cooperation will help your son.”

I clenched my jaw. My fists curled. But I forced myself to nod. “Fine. No problem.”

Moments later, they brought my son out. His small wrists bound in front of him. His face pale, eyes wide with fear. My heart tore apart seeing him like that.

“Son!” I shouted, trying to push through the officers surrounding him. “It’s me, look at me!”

But they blocked me, forbidding me from getting closer.

He turned his head, our eyes met for a brief second. His lips moved, whispering, “Dad…” before they shoved him into another vehicle. I screamed his name, again and again, but the doors slammed shut and the car rolled away.

By the time we reached the station, I was barely holding myself together. They sat me down in a small office, two officers across from me. One flipped open a file.

“The report was filed by your son’s teacher,” the officer explained. “This morning, your boy had a dispute with another student… Lucas Merrill.”

My stomach twisted.

“The fight was over a watch. Lucas’s watch. Somehow, it was found in your son’s possession. The teacher intervened and settled it between them.” The officer sighed, rubbing his temple. “But later in the afternoon, your son approached Lucas again. He told Lucas he wanted to play, that he wanted forgiveness. Lucas agreed. He followed him into the school backyard.”

The officer’s eyes darkened. “There, your son shoved Lucas to the ground. Witnesses claim he stomped on him repeatedly… until Lucas stopped moving. The boy died on scene.”

I covered my mouth with my hand. My chest caved in. I couldn’t breathe.

“No… no, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t,” I muttered, shaking my head violently. “He’s a child—he doesn’t even know what that means.”

The officer leaned forward. “Mr. Kael, I should also mention… your son has been denying it. He keeps repeating that he’s innocent. That he didn’t do it.”

That sliver of hope stung me even worse. My boy swore innocence, yet the story painted him a murderer.

“Where… where will you keep him?” I asked, my voice cracking.

The officer looked at me with practiced calm. “Children below the age of legal punishment are kept in protective juvenile custody. He will not be treated as a criminal, but he must remain under supervision until the truth is clarified.”

I staggered out of the room, my legs weak. Mia was waiting, clinging to the rail outside. She rushed up to me.

“What’s going to happen to our son?” she begged, clutching my arm.

Before I could answer, a black car pulled up in front of the station. Its tinted windows gleamed under the streetlamps.

Two men stepped out, not in police uniform—undercover agents. Their presence shifted the air. They brushed past me and Mia, heading straight inside.

I followed them in, tension clawing at my veins.

“We are from the Directorate,” one of them announced, flashing a badge. “We’re here on direct orders. The boy will be transferred to us immediately.”

My chest tightened. “Why?” I snapped. “Why are you trying to take my son?”

The taller one fixed his eyes on me, cold and sharp. “You shouldn’t intervene, Mr. Kael. This matter is beyond local jurisdiction. Interference from you could be seen as an objection to the government itself.”

His words cut deep. I stepped forward, grabbed him by the collar. “Who sent you? Was it the president? Or are you with Black Spire?”

He shoved my hand away with force. “Stand down.”

I watched helplessly as they processed the extradition, my son dragged away once again. Rage burned in me. I turned to the officer who had earlier spoken to me.

“Who are they?” I demanded.

The officer’s voice was low, reluctant. “They work directly for the president. That’s all I can tell you.”

The president’s name left my lips like venom. My vision tunneled, my heart pounded. I stormed out, Mia chasing after me.

“Kael! Where are you going? What’s happening?!” she cried, her voice cracking.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My feet carried me, fast, determined.

Back at the dorm, I spotted a black sedan waiting. Seraphina stood guard beside it. The look on her face told me everything.

As I approached, she opened the rear door. “The president is waiting for you inside.”

I didn’t say a word. I slid into the car.

The president sat there, calm, his hands folded, eyes cast out the window. I sat beside him, the air thick with unspoken truths.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. Then finally, I broke the silence.

“Tell me everything,” I said, my voice sharp. “Were you aware of what Raven was using those people for? Were you aware of Malik Radwan and Dr. Milton Carroway—how the two are connected?”

The president said nothing, his gaze still fixed on the city lights beyond the glass.

“Then answer me just this,” I pressed. “My son. What happened to my son?”

Slowly, he turned to me. His expression unreadable. From his coat, he pulled out a passport and placed it in my lap.

“You should leave the country for a while,” he said flatly.

I exploded. “Damn it, Mr. President! Tell me what the hell is going on!”

His eyes finally locked with mine. Cold. Heavy. Final.

“Your son,” he said quietly, “is also affected with the Black Serpent.”

The words crushed me.

The word Black Serpent echoed inside my skull, sharp, unreal. My breath caught in my throat.

“What do you mean?” I rasped, staring at the president as though I could tear the truth out of his face. “What the hell do you mean my son is also a victim? I tested him myself. I checked everything—he was fine! Perfectly fine!”

The president didn’t flinch. Calm, deliberate, he reached into his leather case and handed me a slim folder.

“See for yourself.”

My hands trembled as I opened it. Inside were medical documents—charts, scans, neurological notes. My eyes locked on the brain image, a black-and-white printout where irregular shadows sprawled like cracks in glass.

“What the…” My throat went dry.

The president’s voice was grave, unyielding. “That is your son’s brain. The genetic markers confirm the presence of the psychopathy gene. It isn’t dormant anymore. It’s active.”

“No.” My head shook violently. “No, that’s impossible. He’s just a child. My boy—he smiles, he laughs, he plays—he can’t—”

The words broke. My chest heaved. I forced myself to deny it. To deny everything.

But the president leaned forward, resting a heavy hand on my shoulder. His grip was firm, grounding, merciless.

“Kael,” he said, his tone like steel cutting through the air, “don’t lie to yourself. Your son has already killed. That… urge, once awakened, is nearly impossible to suppress. He will crave it again.”

I wanted to scream at him. To break his face for even saying it. But my voice refused to rise.

“There is a way,” the president added quietly. “If you can reach Malik Radwan. My sources say he has discovered a method to counter the demonic brain mutation. An antidote.”

My blood ran cold. My mind spun. Malik Radwan—terrorist, butcher, ghost. And yet, my son’s only hope?

“I will make sure he’s protected in the meantime,” the president continued, eyes narrowing with political weight. “But time is against you, Kael.”

I swallowed my pain, forcing it down, pressing it deep into the pit of my gut. If I broke here, everything else would shatter. I placed the file on the seat, my hand shaking, and reached for the door.

But just before I stepped out, I froze.

“Mr. President,” I said without turning back. “I want to ask you something.”

His voice came steady. “Ask.”

I turned to him. My eyes burning, my throat tight. “Can I trust you?”

For a long moment, silence filled the car. The president’s gaze locked onto mine, heavy, unreadable, peeling away at my soul.

Finally, he said with cutting precision, “Trust me not as a man, Kael, but as an institution. Men fall. Institutions endure. That is all I can offer you.”

The words hit like a blade. Cold. Professional. Final.

I nodded once and pushed the door open.

Seraphina stood waiting. Her eyes studied me, as though reading every c***k in my face.

“Keep your promise tomorrow,” I told her quietly.

Her lips curled into a half-smile. “Of course. I always keep my promises.”

I didn’t answer. I just walked away.

---

When I reached home, the air inside was thick with grief. Aria sat hunched on the couch, her eyes swollen, fixed on me as though my presence was both a lifeline and a curse.

I sat beside her. Silent. Words refused to form.

“What happened to our son?” she whispered finally, her voice brittle.

“He’s going to be fine,” I forced out. My voice broke halfway, but I held her gaze.

She shook her head, tears spilling again. “He’s still just a boy, Kael. My boy.”

Her words tumbled out, desperate, pained. “I’ve always watched him. Always checked on him. Even when everyone whispered that he was the son of a criminal, he never fought, never lashed out. He believed in you. He always said his father wasn’t a criminal—that the world was wrong about you. He stayed positive. He smiled. He was so good.”

Her sobs deepened. “I don’t know when that changed. How it could. He’s too young to do what they say. Too young! A child his age doesn’t have the heart to kill… What if—what if he’s being framed, Kael? Can’t you investigate? Can’t you do something?”

Her tears soaked into my chest as I pulled her into my arms. I held her tight, tighter than I ever had. She broke down completely, her body shaking in my embrace.

Later, when exhaustion pulled her under and her sobbing faded into shallow breaths, I laid her down and covered her with a blanket.

My eyes drifted to the wall. A photo of our son hung there—his posture bright, his smile wide, his small hand holding a paper plane. His eyes, filled with hope, seemed to look right through me.

Guilt cut through me like knives. My chest hollowed out. I turned away, unable to stand the sight any longer, and stepped outside.

The night air slapped me, cold and sharp. I walked toward the dorm, my mind spiraling.

Then, a car slowed beside me. The window rolled down, and out stepped Jessica, her smirk cruel under the streetlight.

“Well, well,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Kael Freedom, the untouchable, heartbroken over his son. Tragic.”

I glared, my fists tightening. “I’m not in the mood for your games, Jessica. You’d better know how to act around me right now.”

She chuckled darkly. “Oh, I agree. Parents like you are never in their senses at times like this.” She stepped closer, her voice dropping. “But I didn’t come to laugh at you. I have information. Vital information.”

My eyes narrowed. “How?”

Her smile widened. “During your son’s surgery… I think Dr. Milton had something to say about it.”

My blood ran cold. “What are you talking about?”

She tossed something at me. A glossy photo fluttered in the air before I caught it. My stomach twisted as I saw it.

Jessica’s voice was almost gleeful. “I think your son’s brain was replaced during the surgery.”