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“There is nothing else to do.”

That was when the door opened.

No one noticed at first.

Then a voice—small, uncertain, but steady—cut through the silence.

“Excuse me, sir… I came to return your wallet.”

Heads turned.

Isabelle’s expression shifted instantly—from grief to disbelief to anger.

“Who let him in here?!”

Security moved toward the boy.

Richard barely glanced over.

“Not now,” he said, his voice hollow. “Please… not now.”

Leo stepped forward anyway, holding out the wallet with both hands.

“I found it outside,” he said. “Near your office.”

Isabelle snatched it quickly, flipping it open.

“Check if anything’s missing,” she said, her tone sharp, defensive—like anger was easier than fear.

A doctor gestured toward the door. “Remove him. This is a sterile environment.”

But Leo didn’t move.

Because he wasn’t looking at them.

He was looking at the baby.

The infant lay impossibly still, his skin pale under the lights.

Leo’s eyes narrowed slightly.

He stepped closer.

No one stopped him fast enough.

There—on the right side of the baby’s neck—was a small swelling.

Not large.

Not irregular.

Too… precise.

Leo tilted his head.

Something about it didn’t match.

It didn’t feel like a sickness.

It felt like something else.

Something stuck.

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