Pete had become gaunt, his eyes hollow and almost lifeless—the vibrancy that once animated his features was nowhere to be found. He appeared so malnourished that Andrea could scarcely believe the frail boy standing before her was her own son.
"Mrs. Singers, I don't wish to overstep, but your son is very ill," the headmaster said with concern. "For the past week, he hasn't uttered a single word to anyone at school. He’s been ignoring his teachers and classmates, isolating himself. I'm not sure what he's been through, but continuing to send him to school in this state could be detrimental to his well-being, both psychologically and physically."
Andrea was struck by her own negligence regarding Pete's condition. She hadn't really seen him for days; their schedules were such that he was off to school before she awoke, and by the time she returned home from work, late and exhausted, she'd hardly had the energy to check on him before sleep claimed her. This cycle had persisted for some time.
"Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Headmaster. I will take leave to care for my son and spend some quality time with him," Andrea resolved.
The headmaster sighed in relief, having been cautious with his approach, fearing that Andrea might react badly and withdraw her financial support for the school.
"Mrs. Singers, I won't delay you further. I've already processed the necessary paperwork; here is the leave of absence form," he said, handing the document to Andrea with haste.
Grateful, Andrea thanked him and left with Pete, silent in the car as they sat side by side.
Andrea was at a loss for words, empathizing deeply with Pete's silent suffering.
"Mom, do you love my father?" Pete suddenly asked, his eyes brimming with tears.
Andrea froze, recalling a similar question from Pete just days earlier. Rushing to reassure him, she said, "I do, honey, I love him very much, just like I love you."
A tear rolled down Pete's cheek as he asked in a voice laced with sorrow, "Did daddy hurt you? Is that why you won't forgive him and sent him away?"
The questions left Andrea speechless.
She had repeatedly tried to convince Pete that Lucas Anderson wasn't his father, and even Lucas had affirmed this, but Pete refused to believe it.
As Andrea grappled with how to clarify the situation, her phone rang. She answered immediately to hear Tony's voice. "Andrea, we've located Valentine Anderson and are en route now."
A smile of relief spread across Andrea's face. "Send me the address; I'll come right away," she said with eagerness.
Tony hesitated, but finally relented. "Alright," he agreed, realizing that with Valentine at the hospital, it wouldn't be dangerous and Andrea's presence could actually facilitate their efforts.
After ending the call, Andrea turned to Pete with a reassuring smile. "Pete, I'm going to bring back your daddy. Please, don't skip your meals anymore."
Pete's eyes briefly brightened before dimming again, the flicker of hope quickly faded. "Okay, mommy," he murmured.
Before Pete could get out of the car, Andrea signaled for him to wait. She took a sample of Pete's hair before he stepped out.
After handing the hair sample to her doctor, Andrea drove to the airport. She boarded her private jet and took off, flying to a country two borders away from her own.
The flight lasted over ten hours. Upon landing in the city that Tony had pinpointed as the location of the hospital, Andrea met up with Pete and the rest of their group. Together, they hurried to the hospital.
Tony had already done his homework on the hospital, down to the specific ward they needed to access.
Approaching the registrar, the overseer of patient records, Tony presented his ID and spoke the local language without a hitch. "Good day, Ma'am. We are with Interpol, conducting an investigation concerning the whereabouts of a highly sought-after terrorist. Our intelligence suggests he was admitted here on the 25th of April. Without your cooperation in accessing patient files from that day, we cannot rule out the risk of a terrorist threat to this facility."
The registrar's complexion went ashen at Tony's words, her hands trembling and her lips quivering. With a shaky voice, she said, "The patient files are all in the lockers."
Her keys clattered to the floor. As she picked them up, her hands were still shaking. Andrea shot Tony a sharp look, disapproving of his alarmist tactics.
Tony offered a sheepish smile in return, knowing that without applying pressure, they might not have gained access as swiftly.
Instead of sifting through every file, Tony headed straight for the records from ward 10. His brow creased as he found the information he needed.
His team had relayed that a bomb blast victim was being treated in the hospital, and it seemed that ward 10 was where the patient was recovering.
"Excuse me, Ma'am," Tony asked the registrar, "is Pascal Willow a bomb blast victim?"
"I only maintain the records; I'm not privy to the patients' conditions," the registrar replied quickly.
Andrea nudged Tony and suggested, "Let's go to the ward and see for ourselves."
Tony nodded and followed Andrea as they made their way to the ward, where they were met by two imposing bodyguards standing at the door.
"Who are you both?" one of the bodyguards asked gruffly, eyeing them with suspicion and heightened vigilance.
"I'm here to visit the patient in the ward," Andrea replied calmly, though underneath her calm exterior, she was feeling extremely anxious.
The bodyguards scrutinized the pair before asking, "Are you acquaintances of our employer, Pascal Willow?"
Andrea exchanged a glance with Tony, who felt a sudden flush of surprise at having his tracking skills questioned in this manner.
"Let them through," a passing doctor instructed the bodyguards, adding, "But keep a close eye on them."