LOGINI stepped out of the shadows.Elena grabbed my arm. "What are you doing?""She already knows we're here." I pulled free. "Running won't change that."Genevieve watched me approach, her expression unreadable. The window was low—industrial, built for loading docks. I hoisted myself up, swung my legs over, and dropped into the warehouse.The air inside was cold. Dusty. It smelled like old wood and older secrets.Genevieve stood a few feet away, hands clasped behind her back. Behind her, three men I didn't recognize sat around a folding table. Maps. Documents. Laptops. The tools of people who planned things in the dark."Close the window," Genevieve said.I didn't move."Suit yourself." She walked toward the table, gestured to an empty chair. "Sit.""I'll stand.""Suit yourself again." She sat. The men watched me with expressions I couldn't read—curious, wary, amused. "You have questions.""I have a lot of questions.""Then ask."I looked at her. Really looked. The woman who'd taught me a
I didn't sleep.The bruises on my throat had darkened overnight—purple fingerprints, a necklace of violence I couldn't hide. I wrapped a silk scarf around my neck and stared at my reflection.You were nothing.Clara's voice again. But it didn't hurt anymore. It just sounded like desperation.I left the mansion before dawn. Silas's door was closed. I didn't knock.---The warehouse district smelled like rust and salt water.Elena was already there, parked behind a collapsed billboard, her car hidden from the main road. I slid into her passenger seat."Anything?""Nothing yet." She handed me a pair of binoculars. "But the lights were on earlier. Someone's inside."I focused on the building. Two stories, red brick, windows covered in grime. A single door on the side, reinforced with steel. No signage. No address."It's been empty for years," Elena said. "According to property records, it was sold to a holding company in 1995. The holding company dissolved in 2000. But the deed never tran
Her fingers dug into my throat.I staggered backward, hit the wall, felt the plaster crack against my skull. Clara's face was inches from mine—contorted, ugly, nothing like the polished mask she wore for the world."You think you can take everything from me?" she hissed. "You think you deserve any of it?"I couldn't breathe. Couldn't speak. My hands flew up, clawed at her wrists, tried to pry her off.Nothing.She was stronger than I expected. Desperation made her strong."You were nothing," she spat. "Nothing. And you're going to die nothing."Elena.I couldn't see her. Couldn't call for her. My vision was starting to blur at the edges, black creeping in from the corners.Then Clara screamed.Her grip released. I crumpled to the floor, gasping, dragging air into my burning lungs. Above me, Elena had Clara by the hair, yanking her backward across the room."Get off her!" Elena shouted. "Get off!"Clara twisted, swung, caught Elena across the face with her elbow. Elena stumbled but did
Clara's sobs followed me up the stairs.Not the theatrical kind I'd heard a hundred times before—the ones she performed for Silas, for cameras, for anyone who might feel sorry for her. These were different. Messier. The sound of someone who'd just realized the ground beneath her feet was gone.I didn't stop.Didn't turn around.Didn't feel a single thing.---My bedroom door clicked shut behind me. I leaned against it, closed my eyes, and listened to my own heartbeat.She's not your sister.She's a pawn.She's been protected her whole life by people who see her as nothing but a tool.I should have felt something. Pity, maybe. Triumph. The cold satisfaction of watching an enemy crumble.Instead, I felt empty.I crossed to the window, pulled back the curtain. Below, Clara stood in the driveway, phone pressed to her ear, her free hand gesturing wildly. She was talking to someone. Someone who wasn't Silas.Who?I watched her pace, watched her wipe her eyes, watched her compose herself wit
The dirt was harder than I expected.Twenty years of settling, of rain and frost and the weight of a mansion built on top of secrets. Every shovelful felt like digging through concrete. My arms screamed. My back burned. But I didn't stop.Silas worked beside me, silent, his breath fogging in the cold night air. We'd been at it for an hour. Two hours. The construction site loomed around us—half-built walls, stacks of lumber, a crane silhouetted against the moon."You're sure it's here?" he asked, pausing to wipe sweat from his forehead."No.""Then why are we digging?""Because I have nowhere else to dig."He looked at me for a long moment. Then he drove his shovel back into the earth.Another hour passed. The hole was nearly four feet deep now, wider than both of us, the edges crumbling. I was about to suggest we stop, regroup, come back with better equipment—My shovel hit something metal.The sound rang out through the night, sharp and clear. Silas froze. I dropped to my knees, scra
Sarah Chen's living room smelled like lavender and old paper. She sat across from me, her hands wrapped around a cup of tea that had gone cold, her eyes fixed on a point somewhere above my left shoulder."I started working for your mother in 1989," she said. "I was twenty-two. Fresh out of nursing school. She was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen."Nursing school. Like Margaret. Like my mother's illness."You were her nurse.""I was her friend." Sarah's voice cracked. "By the time I met her, the cancer was already there. But she didn't want treatment. She said it wouldn't matter. She said she was already dying of something no doctor could cure.""What did she mean?"Sarah finally looked at me. Her eyes were wet."She meant the poison. The one Marcus Vance had been putting in her food for six months."The room tilted."Poison," I repeated."Slow-acting. Untraceable. It looked like cancer. It acted like cancer. But it wasn't cancer." Sarah set down her cup. "I was the one who figur







