She opened her mouth. “Yes… I’m Claraara.”
The man released a slow breath, almost like relief.
“My name is Martins,” he said. “And the old man you’ve been taking food to…”
Claraara’s eyes widened even more.
Martins pointed toward the road outside the compound, toward the unfinished building facing the street.
“Austin,” he continued, “is my father.”
Claraara’s whole body went stiff. Her mind spun.
That homeless old man she fed every day was someone’s father. A rich man’s father. It didn’t make sense.
Claraara blinked fast like she could blink the shock away.
Martins’ voice softened, but his face stayed serious. “We have been looking for him.”
Claraara held her breath.
Martins stepped closer and lowered his voice like he didn’t want the whole compound to hear.
“I went to where he stays,” he said. “I found him there. And when I spoke to him, he described your place for me.”
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