Man.

“Damn it,” Vil growled, glaring out the glass doors. “It’s been nearly fifteen minutes. I should be out there. How could I trust some potato to find my son?”

“Okay, please don’t call my coworker a potato,” Trey said. “And Cater was right that it’s best for you to wait here. You’re–”

“I know. I–” Vil touched his neck again, voice pained, and for more than once in his life, cursed his public status. 

Trey wordlessly pushed a nearby chair with his foot. Vil eyed it for a moment before he finally staggered forward and slumped onto the seat. He leaned forward on the table, covering his face with a slender hand. 

“Damn it,” Vil repeated softly, eyes closing. “Did he hate me that much to run away?”

Trey stayed silent out of compassion. He thought back to just nearly fifteen minutes ago, gaze straying to a nearby wall clock that ticked constantly in the silence.

“He’s not in the nap room nor in any closet. Hallways are clear. He must have left through the elementary school door,” Trey concluded coming out from the nap room, unsettled. “I’ll go report this to Crowley and alert security.”

Without speaking a word, Vil whipped around and grabbed his keys. He strode swiftly towards the front doors. He’d barely reached them, however, before Cater grabbed him roughly by the arm.

“Vil, hold on! You should wait here,” Cater said urgently. “I’ll go look for him.”

Vil ripped his arm out of Cater’s grasp. “You must be absolutely delusional if you think you can stop me from going out and finding my son!”

“Think about who you are!” Cater nearly shouted. Ignoring Vil’s warning glare, he grabbed Vil’s shoulders and pulled him closer. “You’re Vil Schoenheit. Can you imagine what would happen if you went to the streets publicly, looking for your son? Paparazzi would be there in an instant. It’d be impossible to find Epel.”

“Cater’s right,” Trey said behind Cater. “If news spread to the public that Epel was missing, he might be in even more danger. You also don’t live in this neighborhood. Cater does. You should stay here and call your contacts, Vil.”

Vil grit his teeth. He appeared ready to knock Cater to the ground (and Cater wouldn’t be surprised if he was able to). But in the next moment, a hand reached up to grab Cater’s wrist instead.

“Find my son,” Vil said hoarsely. “If I don’t hear back in twenty minutes, I will go out there myself, publicity be damned.”