With his eyes riveted on the clock in his living room, sitting at the end of the table, Day counted every minute that passed. All the commotion around him didn't matter, only time mattered to him. Wasn't that what the police had been saying all the time for three hours now? The more time passes, the more the chances of finding them diminished. The first hours of kidnapping were always crucial. At this precise moment, Day would have liked to be like other people and be able to say: "only God knows" but he was a god. It was he who must have known, but he did not know. He didn't know why or how much less when exactly.
"Day," his uncle called cautiously.
