The front door opened as I came back down the hall. Mrs. Patterson from next door, carrying a casserole dish. “Simon, you’re back! How’s the knee? Have you seen Chester?”

“When did you last see him?”

She blinked at something in my tone. “Tuesday morning, early. He had big suitcases. Said something about finally getting a break.” She smiled uncertainly. “Looked happy.”

“Everything’s fine,” I said, taking the casserole and closing the door with careful control.

In the kitchen, I found takeout containers in the trash. Chinese food, one meal’s worth. Chester had eaten before he left. Fed himself, packed his bags, and walked out while his mother slept.