Chapter 3 - The Name in the Dark
With a fluid, practiced motion, Andrew shifted his broad frame, moving Ethan entirely behind his back. Andrew stood like an immovable iron shield between the helpless eight-year-old child and the two aggressive pursuers, completely blocking the boy from their view.
"There you are, son," Andrew said, his tone turning smooth, cold, and calculated as he addressed the dark alleyway. "I’ve been looking everywhere for you."
The two uniformed men stopped dead in their tracks, their boots sliding on the wet asphalt. The lead pursuer frowned, raising his flashlight higher to illuminate the face of the man standing in front of the boy.
"Hey, pal, step aside," the lead man demanded, taking one aggressive step forward. "That kid is private property. He belongs to—"
The beam of the flashlight hit Andrew’s face, illuminating his sharp jawline, his rain-soaked black hair, and the dense black tattoos climbing up his neck.
The lead man's sentence cut off instantly. The aggressive posture vanished from his shoulders, replaced by a sudden, sickening wave of recognition. His eyes widened in sheer terror, his face draining of all color under the rain.
"Wait..." the second uniformed man stammered, his voice trembling as he grabbed his partner's arm, pulling him back. "Wait... Andrew Whitman?"
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Andrew did not answer. He didn't move a muscle. He simply stared at them through the rain, his hazel eyes cold, dark, and unblinking—a silent promise of total annihilation if they took another step forward.
Neither of the uniformed men said another word. Without turning their backs, both men began retreating rapidly, stepping backward out of the alleyway and disappearing into the neon-lit downpour of the main street, terrified to stay in his presence for another second.
