Aaron closed his eyes briefly, because he did not need confirmation beyond that. Nathan was his twin, the brother who vanished from every contact list six years earlier after one vicious argument that neither had bothered to heal.
Before Aaron could speak again, a woman hurried out from the building, her sensible shoes striking the pavement with urgency.
“Tyler, you cannot walk off alone,” she said, pulling the boy closer with a protective hand on his shoulder. Then she turned to Aaron. “Officer, I apologize. He wanders when he sees something that interests him.”
Aaron straightened slowly, noting the exhaustion in her face, the tired professionalism of someone who carried stories heavier than her own.
“It is alright,” he said. “I am Officer Mitchell. May I ask your name?”
“I am Ms. Donnelly,” she replied. “I manage intake care here.”
Tyler tugged her sleeve and pointed again at Aaron’s tattoo.
“He has Daddy’s mark,” the boy said loudly.
Ms. Donnelly’s eyes dropped to Aaron’s arm, and the color drained from her cheeks so quickly that Aaron knew the truth had already reached her mind before words did.
She tightened her hold on Tyler.
“We should go inside,” she murmured.
Aaron lifted a hand slightly.
“Please wait,” he said. “My brother has that same tattoo. His name is Nathan Mitchell. I believe Tyler may be my nephew.”
Silence settled between them, broken only by a distant lawn mower. Ms. Donnelly studied Aaron’s face for a long moment, weighing instinct against caution, then finally nodded.
“Come inside,” she said. “We need to talk somewhere private.”
They sat in a modest office filled with drawings taped to walls and a half finished puzzle on a low table. Tyler ran off to join other children in a playroom, leaving the adults alone with a file folder that seemed to carry more weight than paper should.
Ms. Donnelly opened it carefully.
“Tyler was brought here two years ago,” she explained. “He was found near a bus terminal, wandering alone. He repeated one name over and over. Nathan.”
Aaron exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled.
“What about his mother?” he asked.
“She arrived days later,” Ms. Donnelly said. “She was pregnant and exhausted. She signed temporary custody papers and said she needed to find stable housing. She still calls once every month from different numbers. She always asks if Tyler is safe. She never gives an address.”
Aaron looked down at his hands.