Outside the house the next morning, George Sin adjusted the rearview mirror, watching his niece, buckle herself into her booster seat. He felt like a getaway driver in a high-stakes heist, his heart hammering against his ribs.
"Clara Sin," he warned, shifting the car into gear. "If Mommy finds out about this, you are taking the full fall. I'm just the driver, a passive participant in your rebellion. Got it?"
Clara was too busy pressing her nose against the window, watching the city of Munich blur past in a haze.
"Uncle, you talk too much," she chirped, her mind already on her mission.
She wasn't just going for ice cream; she was going to see the man who made her mother cry.
Inside the office, Michael sat behind a massive desk, his brow furrowed over a contract. He felt the shift in the room and looked up, expecting an assistant.
Instead, he saw a little girl in a pink dress, her eyes wide and sparkling with a familiar, stubborn light.
