Chapter 2 - The Stranger in the Black Sedan
The officer’s radio crackled again, louder this time, filled with the urgent static of a real emergency. He looked at Zelda and Cara, his conscience warring with his duty. "Stay right here," he commanded, though the instruction itself was a paradox. "Don't move. I'll be back as soon as I can."
He hurried to his cruiser, the tires crunching loudly on the fresh snow as he sped away, his red and blue lights painting the abandoned stone facade of St. Bartholomew’s in rhythmic strokes of color before fading into the dark.
The silence returned, heavier than before.
Then, a pair of headlights cut through the falling snow. A sleek, black luxury sedan slowed down, its engine purring like a quiet beast. It pulled up to the curb right where the police cruiser had been moments before.
The door opened, and a man stepped out. He wore a tailored wool coat that kept out the winter chill, but his expression was far from cold. This was Arthur Vance, a self-made billionaire who possessed everything money could buy, yet carried a hollow ache in his chest that no fortune could fill. He had spent the last five years searching for a ghost—his younger brother's long-lost child, who had vanished into the foster system after a tragic accident.
Arthur walked toward the steps, his leather shoes sinking into the snow. He hadn't intended to stop, but the sight of two small forms huddled under a ragged blanket had pulled at something deep inside him.
"Good evening," Arthur said softly, keeping his distance so as not to scare them. "It's much too cold to be sitting out here."
Zelda raised her chin, her small body acting as a shield for Cara. "We're allowed to wait here," she said, her voice trembling but defiant.
Arthur knelt, bringing himself to their eye level. As he did, the streetlamp caught the side of Zelda’s neck. A small, distinct birthmark shaped like a crescent moon was visible just beneath her ear.
Arthur’s breath caught in his throat. His hands began to shake. It was the exact mark his brother had carried—the very same mark described in the sparse medical records of his missing niece. But there were two of them. Twins.
"What is your name?" Arthur asked, his voice suddenly thick with emotion.
May you like
"Zelda," she said cautiously. "And this is Cara."
"Zelda..." Arthur breathed the name, a wave of shock washing over him. The search he thought would take a lifetime had brought him to this abandoned church on Christmas night. "I think... I think I've been looking for you."
