ANMELDENZoeThe motel room door was wide open.I saw it from the parking lot, a dark rectangle against the pale concrete, and my legs moved before my mind caught up. I crossed the asphalt at a run, my boots slapping against the ground, Liam right behind me.Marcus stood in the doorway, his face ashen, his rifle hanging at his side.“The children,” I said. “Where are the children?”“Inside. They are safe.” He stepped aside. “But Edward is gone.”The room was a wreck. The mattress had been shoved off the bed frame. The lamp lay shattered on the floor. The window was open, the screen torn out, the curtains flapping in the cold night air.Lily was sitting on the floor in the corner, her arms wrapped around David, her grey eyes wide. The baby was in her carrier, still asleep, untouched.I crossed to them and dropped to my knees. I pulled them both into my arms, holding them so tight that Lily squeaked.“You are safe,” I whispered. “You are safe.”“The old man,” Lily said, her voice trembling. “He
LiamThe rooftop was cold, the wind cutting through the city like a blade. We had driven for hours, the truck weaving through back roads, avoiding the main highways and the black cars that still circled the mountains. Edward sat in the back, silent, his wrists still bound. The second notebook was in my jacket, its pages burning a hole against my chest.We could not go to the police. The notebook had made that clear. Three names on the first page belonged to men in uniform—a detective, a prosecutor, a captain. Men who had sworn to uphold the law and had sold it to the highest bidder.Zoe stood at the edge of the rooftop, her gaze fixed on the city below. The children were with Marcus, safe in a motel room three blocks away. We had not told them where we were going. We had not told them what we had found.“We need a journalist,” Zoe said, not turning. “Someone who is not afraid of the network. Someone who will publish the evidence before the police can bury it.”“Edward mentioned a name
ZoeThe truck idled at the side of the road, the engine ticking as it cooled. Edward sat in the back, his head bowed, his wrists still bound. He had not spoken since revealing the second notebook. He had simply closed his eyes and waited, as if he had already accepted whatever came next.Liam looked at me, his dark eyes searching my face. “We cannot take him back to the estate. He could have men waiting. He could be lying.”“He is not lying.”“How do you know?”I did not answer. I simply looked at Edward, at the broken man in the back of the truck, and I felt something I had not expected. Pity.“We leave him here,” I said. “Tied to the truck. Marcus can stay with him.”“And us?”“We go back. Just you and me.”Liam was silent for a moment. Then he nodded.The estate was quiet when we returned, the sun now fully risen, casting long shadows across the garden. The statue of the angel stood at the center, its stone wings weathered, its face serene. I had walked past it a thousand times as
ZoeThe truck climbed the final hill, its engine straining against the steep grade, and then the trees fell away and I saw it.The Vance estate. My childhood home. The place where I had learned to walk, to read, to lie. The place where Edward had raised me like a weapon he was sharpening for a war I did not know existed.The main house stood at the end of a long gravel drive, its stone walls pale in the moonlight. The windows were dark. The doors were closed. But I knew better than to think it was empty.Liam stopped the truck at the gate. Marcus stepped out first, his rifle raised, his eyes scanning the shadows. I climbed down from the back seat, the baby strapped to my chest, Lily and David holding hands behind me.“Wait here,” Liam said to them.“No,” Lily said, her voice small but stubborn. “I want to stay with you.”I knelt beside her, my hands on her shoulders. “You need to stay with Uncle Marcus. Just for a little while. Mama and Papa have something important to do.”She looked
LiamThe fire had burned down to embers, I sat in the chair by the hearth, the files spread across Martha's table, the map of the mountain spread beneath them. The children were still asleep. Zoe was in the kitchen with Martha, the murmur of their voices a quiet counterpoint to the crackle of the dying flames. Marcus was outside, walking the perimeter, his rifle never far from his hand.I had been staring at the same page for an hour.Edward Vance's location. The old Vance estate. The place where Zoe had grown up. The place where Edward had raised her, trained her, controlled her.He had gone back. After everything, after the trial, after the evidence, he had gone home.The arrogance of it made my jaw tighten.Zoe appeared beside me, a cup of tea in her hands. She set it on the table and lowered herself into the chair across from me."You found something," she said.I pushed the page toward her. She picked it up, her grey eyes scanning the words."The old estate," she said."Yes."She
Zoe The baby would not stop crying. I had tried everything. Feeding. Rocking. Singing. Nothing worked. Her small face was red, her fists clenched, her wails echoing through the trees like a siren. Lily walked beside me, her hand gripping my coat, her grey eyes wide with worry. David was on Liam's shoulders, his head drooping, his exhaustion palpable. Marcus walked ahead, his rifle ready, his gaze scanning the forest. He had not spoken in hours. "We need to stop," I said. "We cannot," Marcus replied without turning. "She is hungry. Tired. We all are." He stopped and looked back at us. His face was drawn, the lines deeper than I remembered. He was carrying more weight than any of us—the responsibility, the guilt, the fear. "Five minutes," he said. "No more." We sat on a fallen log, and the children huddled together for warmth. I nursed the baby, her cries finally quieting as she fed. Liam sat beside me, his hand on my knee, his gaze fixed on the forest. "We are not going to mak







