Guggenheim Bilbao
Bilbao, Spain
“J
ean Luc!”
Petra’s heart pounded faster and faster with each unanswered call of her brother’s name. When they had first arrived, she was convinced the police had searched the wrong hiding spot or had done so unthoroughly, so had sprinted across the crime scene before diving under the stairwell she and her brother had hidden under.
And he hadn’t been there.
But there was also no damage where he had been, and no blood.
“Jean Luc, it’s me, Petra!”
Still no answer. The police officer with her patted her on the back. “Don’t worry, dear, kids that age get scared easily. When the explosion happened, he probably just ran and hid somewhere he can’t hear you.”
“But what if we don’t find him? He could die!”
The woman chuckled. “If there’s one thing having a young son has taught me, it’s that when they’re hungry, they always make an appearance.”
Petra smiled slightly. “That’s definitely Jean Luc.”
“How about we try somewhere else? We’ll keep at it—“
Another officer jogged around the corner then whispered in the policewoman’s ear, though not quiet enough that Petra couldn’t hear.
“We have to get her back to the hospital. There’s been a complication with her father. They don’t think he’s going to make it.”
“Daddy!”
