Aamon froze. The mention of his son was like a sudden, sharp blow. He hadn't wanted to remember that painful day, a day he desperately wished he could erase from his memory. Thinking of his son always caused a deep, aching pain in his heart. He quickly masked the raw emotion in his eyes, replacing it with a gentle, if slightly strained, smile.
"Why?" Aamon asked, his voice soft.
"Can I go see him when I'm discharged? I'm on sick leave anyway, right?" Angela asked, her voice hopeful.
"Of course you can, my princess," Aamon said, his smile becoming more genuine as he focused on her request.
Angela leaned her head against her father's shoulder, her mind drifting back to the chaotic events of earlier that day. The gallery... the Rogue... and a voice...
