CHAPTER 265: BABYSITTER BOUND

The child’s fingers were still wrapped tightly around mine as we stepped out from the alleyway.

His hand was small, clammy, and tense with the kind of panic that hadn’t fully dissolved yet. Camille came jogging around the corner moments later, shopping bags in one arm, eyes wide.

"Rey? What the hell, you disappeared. I thought you’d gone full vanishing act."

I tilted my head down at the child as if telling her to watch the words she uses. He blinked up at her with wide eyes.

Camille’s tone softened instantly. "Oh. Oh. Sweetheart, are you alright?"

He nodded hesitantly, then wiped his nose on the sleeve of his oversized hoodie. "I’m Charlie."

I crouched beside him again. "Nice to meet you, Charlie. I’m Reynard, and this is Camille."

His brow furrowed.

"You look... familiar," he said slowly. "Are you on the big building screens sometimes?"

Camille grinned. "Only when we’re not being hunted by secret government factions."

I shot her a look.

Charlie didn’t get it, thankfully. He just gave a confused shrug and held onto my hand tighter.

"Okay, Charlie," I said gently. "Do you remember where your mom went? What she looks like?"

He nodded quickly. "She has a pink...thing around her neck. She said to stay near the fruit stand while she bought tea but then... she didn’t come back."

Camille and I exchanged a look.

I stood, lifting Charlie in my arms. He didn’t protest. His arms looped around my neck like he’d done it a hundred times. Camille adjusted the bags in her hand and led the way back to the main street.

We began walking.

Every time I glanced around, I caught glimpses of pedestrians recognizing us. Some looked stunned. Others smiled nervously. One or two pulled out their phones but hesitated.

It was surreal.

We passed the fruit vendor Charlie had mentioned. I knelt again, asking if he remembered seeing the boy. The vendor nodded.

"His mother was in here not long ago. She bought tea at that shop across the plaza, but then she looked distressed when she saw the kid wasn’t there."

Camille pointed. "Worth a shot."

The three of us crossed carefully, weaving between families and slow-moving delivery drones. Camille occasionally waved at passersby who recognized her, but most people gave us space—probably because I was still holding a child.

Inside the tea shop, the air was rich with herbs and quiet murmurs.

And there, standing near the back, was a woman in a slate-gray coat and a pink scarf, anxiously scanning the crowd.

"Mom!" Charlie cried.

He wriggled free and bolted forward. The woman turned just in time to drop her tea pouch and fall to her knees, arms out.

"Charlie!"

They collided. She held him like a lifeline, whispering something too soft for us to hear.

"Where were you? I told you to wait by fruit vendor."

"But you didn’t come back."

"Oh sweetie...I was just looking for your grandmas favorite kind of tea."

Then, after a few long seconds, she looked up.

Her eyes widened. Her jaw slowly dropped.

"Oh... oh my god."

I gave a small wave.

"You’re... you’re Reynard Vale. And Camille Voss. You two are..." she struggled to find words. Her hands were trembling slightly, still wrapped protectively around her son. "You’re the people who made the broadcast. Who—"

"It’s alright," I said gently. "He found us. We just helped him get back."

She flushed bright red. "I’m so sorry. I told him to stay still for just a minute, and then the line took longer than I thought, and—"

"It’s okay," Camille said, smiling. "He was brave. Stuck it out till someone noticed."

The woman stood slowly, adjusting her scarf. Her eyes were glassy with relief. She looked at me again, as if struggling to reconcile the version of me from news clips with the version in front of her holding her child.

"I don’t know how to thank you," the woman said, voice cracking as she bent down to brush a stray lock of hair from her son’s damp forehead. Her eyes shimmered with the kind of relief that had been waiting too long to breathe. "I thought I lost him. I just... I didn’t know what to do."

Before I could answer, Charlie piped up again—loud, clear, and completely serious.

"You can be my babysitters."

I blinked. "What?"

Charlie nodded, lips pursed with grave finality. "Mom says we can’t afford a babysitter, but if you’re famous, you don’t need money. So you could babysit me."

Camille, beside me, choked on a laugh and turned away, shoulders trembling. "Oh my god," she wheezed. "I love him."

The woman’s face flushed a deep red. "Charlie! No! That’s not—I’m so sorry, he doesn’t mean—he just says things sometimes—"

But I was still looking at him.

Not confused.

Just... stunned.

Because in that moment, it made a certain kind of brutal, childish sense. The kind only kids could get away with. In his head, the logic was simple: rich people didn’t need money, and famous people had time for kindness.

And more than that—it wasn’t a request.

It was a solution.

"Well," I said slowly, recovering, "he does have a point."

Camille turned to me, eyebrows raised in amusement. "Wait. Are you actually entertaining this?"

"Why not?"

"Because," the woman said, visibly flustered, "you’re Reynard Vale. You’re the Jobmaster. You’re working with the Prime Minister! You just saved—whatever it was you saved. You’re probably needed in five different countries by this evening and—"

I shrugged. "I’ve had enough of politics and global governments for a few lifetimes. And honestly?" I glanced at Charlie. "I wouldn’t mind spending a little more time with someone who doesn’t expect me to fix the world."

Charlie grinned.

Camille added with a wink, "Besides, we have to make sure he doesn’t become evil someday. We might be raising the next masked syndicate leader. Intervention is key."

The woman covered her mouth, half in horror, half in a laugh that finally escaped. "You two are something else. I don’t even know what to say."

"You don’t have to say anything," I said. "Just let us help."

Her face shifted between gratitude and disbelief. "You’re serious. You’re really... serious."

"As serious as a four-year-old with bold career plans and no filter," Camille added.

Charlie tugged at his mom’s sleeve. "Can I go with them now?"

She hesitated, looking at me like I might vanish if she blinked. Like I wasn’t real. "I mean, just for a little while—he’s safe now—but..."

Camille knelt beside Charlie. "How about this? You come with us for a bit. We’ll get lunch. We’ll show you the penthouse and Alexis’s very serious collection of medical books that you’re definitely allowed to touch even though she says otherwise."

"Hey—"

"You’ll be back before dinner," she promised the woman. "Promise."

Charlie turned to his mom, eyes wide with hope. "Can I?"

There was a long pause.

The kind of pause that stretches because it doesn’t know what the right answer is.

Then the woman nodded.

"Okay. Just for a little while. If it’s really no trouble..."

"No trouble at all," I said.

Charlie ran to my side like he’d already known the answer. Like he’d planned it.

Camille took one of his hands, I took the other.

We turned as a trio, heading toward the avenue.

"I’m gonna be babysat by a superhero and a fashion queen!" Charlie shouted back at his mom.

She stood there, still stunned, a hand over her mouth, watching us go with a strange, watery smile.

As we turned the corner, Camille looked up at me.

"You gonna make a habit of collecting kids now?"

I exhaled. The weight in my chest hadn’t lifted. Not fully. But the ache wasn’t so loud. Not with a small hand in mine.

"Only the ones that find me first."