At the Police Station...
The waiting area was cold, the pale grey walls radiating a sense of emptiness. The ticking of the clock pierced through the silence like heavy noise in the ears of the woman sitting there. She shifted restlessly in her seat, clutching her phone as if waiting for a miracle.
The Woman (in a broken voice, fighting back tears):
"So... what do I do now? Where do I go?"
The policeman, flipping through papers with indifference, looked up slightly and said in a routine tone:
"Just wait a moment, ma'am... the precinct head will be here shortly."
In a place far from this administrative coldness, Arin sat on the edge of his bed. The dim light of the room reflected on his weary face. He gripped the old bandage and slowly began to unwrap it, revealing the long wound beneath. He bit his lip, suppressing a pain he tried his best not to feel.
Elsewhere, Cera returned to her work, but her steps were hesitant, her mind still anchored to Aiden's words. Around her, the whispers of her colleagues rose like birds scavenging for hot bread.
First Colleague (with unconcealed curiosity):
"Who was that man? He looked like he came from another world..."
Another (mockingly):
"If the manager fires you, his good looks won't save you!"
A third (whispering to herself):
"We are forced to live like slaves... no one hears us."
At that moment, the doors of the police station swung wide open. Aiden walked in.
With steady steps and a face as stoic as sea-worn rock, he didn't need to raise his voice. When he spoke, a strange silence fell, as if time itself had stopped to listen.
Aiden (in his calm, decisive voice):
"Where is she?"
The policeman stood up nervously, stammering as he pointed to the woman in the corner:
"Welcome, sir... she is right there."
The woman turned slowly, as if something had forced her neck to move. When her eyes met Aiden's, her pupils dilated until they looked as if they might explode. Her face turned ashen, her lips trembled, and she gripped her bag as if clinging to a straw in the middle of a storm.
Aiden, staring at her steadily, stepped forward and said in a low tone:
"You... are you Arin's mother?"
The woman stared back, her eyes tearing up without even blinking, as if she were seeing a ghost risen from the grave. Aiden drew closer, leaning in slightly, and whispered in her ear—a voice barely audible, yet it pierced her mind like a bullet:
"Did you find your son... Aiden?"
The woman shuddered, reeling back as if pushed by an invisible force. She sank into the chair behind her, her breath hitching, a single silent tear escaping her right eye.
Aiden straightened up, watching her reaction calmly before saying in a softer, yet still firm tone:
"Arin told me the truth. So, I decided to help. I will lead you to him... to Arin."
At that moment, a new chessboard was being drawn silently inside Aiden's mind. But this time, the pieces weren't just black and white; they were broken, overlapping, and blurred. From the moment Arin spoke his missing brother's name, the journal in Aiden's mind began to glow for the first time, pulsing with hope.
But hope wasn't enough... his childhood remained shrouded in a thick fog.
Aiden opened the back door of the car and nodded for the woman to get in. She hesitated for a second, her body seemingly unable to respond, then she entered slowly, her hands trembling as she clutched her bag to her chest like a lost memory.
He closed the door, walked around the car calmly, and took his seat behind the wheel. A heavy silence hung in the air, broken only by her ragged breathing and his quiet sighs.
Aiden (starting the engine, without looking at her, spoke in a monotonous voice that hid an ocean of thought):
"Isn't it strange that Arin didn't tell you where his new home is?"
He waited for an answer... but received nothing but a gaze. A lost, stunned look, filled with confusion and an underlying pain suppressed for years. Her eyes were fixed on him, as if she saw the past and reality intertwined in his face.
He let out a short sigh and smiled with faint irony, turning his gaze to the road ahead. The steering wheel felt like a piece on the chessboard rotating in his head.
"What? Do I remind you of your lost son?"
Then he continued in a deeper, more mysterious tone, as if talking to himself:
"So... perhaps we share more than just a name... don't we?"
Silence returned, but inside Aiden, there was no peace. There was a voice... no, two voices... overlapping, arguing, spinning in his head like a restless whirlpool.
(Inside Aiden's Mind)
First Voice (mocking, sharp, like his own but colder):
"Brilliant... the name, the looks, the silence—everything points to one thing."
Second Voice (calmer, confused):
"But it can't just be a coincidence? Why don't I remember? Why do I see these fragmented memories, devoid of context?"
Aiden's Internal Voice (loudly, as if talking to himself):
"So... what do I conclude from all these coincidences?"
"The name? The resemblance? Her gaze? That lingering shock on her face?"
"Strange… this is all so strange…"
"Empty loops... as if someone erased my childhood on purpose."
"How do I complete this broken chessboard? How do I rearrange the pieces?"