That afternoon, James parked, grabbed the box, and checked the label as he climbed the short walkway. Routine. Just another stop. He didn’t even get to knock. The door exploded open. And there wasn’t a parent there. There was Ethan. Eight years old. Barefoot on freezing concrete. Spider-Man pajamas hanging off his skinny frame. His face was pale, eyes huge, wet, frantic — the kind of fear that doesn’t belong on a kid that small. The kind that ages you in a heartbeat. Behind him, from somewhere d