A tiny, pin-sized hole had been punctured through the cardboard and the inner foil lining near the bottom corner.

It was so small it would have been invisible unless you were looking for it.

Lorenzo took a clean syringe from a tray on the counter and used the needle to scrape at the edge of the puncture.

A tiny speck of white powder, slightly different in texture from the yellow-tinted formula, clung to the metal tip.

He held the needle up to his nose, sniffing it cautiously.

A faint, chemical odor, like bitter almonds, drifted through the cold air.

My stomach dropped as I realized what we were looking at.

“They weren’t just neglecting him,” I whispered, my voice shaking.

“They were feeding it to him. Every single day.”

Lorenzo’s jaw tightened so hard I heard his teeth grind.

His face went pale, his dark eyes turning cold and dead.

He looked down at Leo, who was still sleeping peacefully against my chest, completely unaware of the poison that had been running through his veins.