TERMS OF RESURRECTION..

It was after midnight when Anais called Irene.

She hadn’t moved from the sofa in hours, the image of Julien and Dahlia stepping into that building with Harlan Quinn frozen on her phone screen. The soft blue glow of it had become the only light in the room.

“I need to know where they went,” she said without preamble.

Irene didn’t ask what had changed. “Already tracing.”

Anais stared ahead, throat tight. “Do it quietly.”

She hung up before Irene could respond.

Cassian entered the room a minute later, his sleeves pushed up, hair slightly mussed. He looked at her the way people look at old war zones—half memory, half dread.

“What happened?” he asked.

She didn’t hand him the phone.

Just said, “Julien and Dahlia are back. And they’re working with Harlan Quinn.”

Cassian’s expression didn’t change. But she saw his hands stiffen by his sides.

He walked to the fireplace and stood there silently for a long moment.

“I should’ve buried them deeper,” he murmured.

Anais stood slowly. “This isn’t just about you anymore.”

“I know.”

She stepped closer, heart pounding. “So let me help.”

He turned to her finally. His jaw was clenched, but his eyes were steady. “This could get ugly.”

“Then don’t face it alone.”

Cassian stared at her.

Then nodded.

By morning, Irene had answers.

“They went to a building on 31st,” she said. “Owned by a holding group that traces back to a shuttered law firm—once used by ThorneTech. My guess is, it’s a safehouse or a private server hub.”

Anais rubbed her forehead. “What are they planning?”

Irene’s voice dropped. “I don’t know. But I found something else.”

Anais glanced up.

“Julien’s been quietly reactivating shell companies under your name. Ones that were dissolved two years ago.”

Anais went still. “Why?”

“To build a paper trail. If this explodes, he’s lining you up to take the fall.”

Anais sat back, a slow chill climbing her spine.

“He’s trying to erase me by replacing me.”

“Or destroy you as leverage,” Irene said. “Either way, this is personal.”

Cassian met with his internal counsel that afternoon. Anais joined him.

The legal team was tight-lipped but worried. Julien still had contacts inside Vale Holdings, mostly people Cassian hadn’t vetted personally—those who came in through mergers, buyouts, quiet nepotism.

One of them had been forwarding emails from Anais’s private inbox. Cassian’s eyes darkened when he found out. He said nothing, but his silence shook the room more than shouting would’ve.

After the meeting, he closed the door behind them and turned to Anais.

“I have a theory.”

She folded her arms. “Let’s hear it.”

“Julien and Dahlia aren’t just working with Quinn. They’re working for someone else.”

Anais tilted her head.

“Someone wants Vale to collapse—or be taken apart slowly, from the inside out. If they succeed, everything tied to you and me goes with it. Fallpoint. Selene. Even the orphanage funds.”

Anais felt her stomach sink.

“And you think Quinn’s the middleman?”

“He’s good at quiet destruction. He doesn’t just want money. He wants chaos.”

Anais stepped toward the window.

Then froze.

“Wait.”

Cassian turned.

“What?”

She turned to him, slowly. “You said something earlier. About Selene. About how you tried to threaten him and he sent you a hospital file.”

“Yes.”

Anais’s eyes narrowed. “Which means he has access to records that were supposed to be erased.”

Cassian’s breath caught.

“Only one person ever kept those,” he said.

Anais nodded. “And she died.”

“No,” he said. “She disappeared.”

That evening, Anais and Cassian drove out of the city.

Cassian took the wheel, unusually quiet the entire ride. Anais watched the road pass in streaks of gold and gray.

“Where are we going?” she asked finally.

He didn’t look at her. “To find the woman who cleaned up my sister’s death.”

Anais’s heart kicked up.

“She’s alive?”

Cassian nodded once. “If Quinn’s moving pieces again, she’s either running or helping him.”

“And if she’s running?”

Cassian’s jaw tightened. “Then we chase her.”

They arrived at a small cottage on the edge of a wooded cliff three hours later.

It looked abandoned. Windows dusted. Roof worn.

Cassian got out first. He walked slowly, eyes scanning every detail.

Anais followed close behind.

When they knocked, nothing happened.

But just as they turned to leave, a voice said, “He finally brought a woman worth something.”

Anais turned sharply.

An old woman was sitting in a chair under the overhang, almost hidden in shadow.

Her face was lined like cracked porcelain. Her eyes sharp as wire.

Cassian stiffened. “Isadora.”

She smiled faintly. “Still cleaning up your messes, I see.”

Cassian didn’t respond.

Isadora turned her eyes to Anais.

“You’re the wife?”

Anais nodded.

“Pretty. But that won’t save you.”

Anais stepped forward. “Then tell me what will.”

Isadora studied her a moment longer. Then stood, painfully slow.

“I’ll tell you what I know,” she said. “But nothing is free.”

Cassian pulled a folded check from his coat and handed it over.

Isadora took it without looking.

Then opened the door.

Inside, the cottage smelled of cedar and something older.

She poured tea but didn’t drink it.

“Selene was never meant to be a secret,” Isadora said. “But Cassian made it one. And secrets rot.”

Anais sat forward. “Quinn?”

“Was her handler,” Isadora said. “He was assigned to monitor her after the first breakdown. He got too close.”

Cassian flinched.

Isadora went on.

“When she died, he snapped. Thought Cassian let her go too easily. Thought he owed her more.”

Anais frowned. “So this is revenge?”

“No,” Isadora said. “This is legacy. Quinn believes Vale Holdings is blood money. He wants to gut it and build something from the pieces.”

“And Julien?”

“Useful. Angry. Disposable.”

Anais felt her pulse thrum.

“And me?”

Isadora looked at her sharply.

“You’re his variable. His mistake. The one he underestimated.”

She leaned in slightly.

“So make him regret it.”

Back at the penthouse, Anais stood in the hallway and stared at the closed doors of Cassian’s private vault room.

Inside was everything—contracts, records, backups of names and numbers that could destroy or protect depending on who wielded them.

Cassian stepped beside her.

“You want to go in?”

Anais nodded.

He pulled a key from around his neck and placed it in her hand.

“Then go.”

Inside, the vault smelled cold.

Anais stood surrounded by silence and secrets.

She opened drawer after drawer.

Her name was on more documents than she expected.

Her signature.

Used again and again.

Some from contracts she remembered.

Others… she didn’t.

Her hands trembled.

She pulled out a file with her maiden name.

Inside were pages detailing a transfer of assets from her father’s old company—approved by her signature.

She hadn’t signed it.

But it had been dated a month after her accident. When she’d been on pain meds. Barely functioning.

She swallowed hard.

Then turned to the vault’s camera.

“Record,” she said.

And spoke.

Spoke everything she knew.

Everything she had learned.

As insurance.

As evidence.

As survival.

That night, Cassian found her on the floor of her room, files spread everywhere.

She looked up at him, exhausted.

“You used me,” she said.

He didn’t deny it.

He just knelt beside her and said, “I didn’t know how else to keep you close.”

She stared at him.

And said, “Then you never deserved me at all.”

She got up and left the room.