INICIAR SESIÓNThe key sat between them on the table. Number 17. Sera had stared at it for almost five minutes. Lucien hadn't touched it. Neither of them wanted to be the first to decide what it meant. The woman was dead. Another person had tried to kill her before she could explain the truth. And now there was a name. ELENA VOSS A name that shouldn't have mattered. Except it did. Because the woman had said Voss. And because she had known Sera's mother. And because twenty-three years ago, the entire story had begun with people whose names were becoming harder to separate from one another. Valmont. Devereaux. Voss. Sera rubbed her temples. "This is getting ridiculous." Lucien looked at her. "What?" "Every time we find an answer, we get three more questions." "That's usually how investigations work." "You're enjoying this?" "No." "Good." He almost smiled. She leaned back. "I'm serious." "I know." "I just want one thing to be simple." Lucien looked
The call ended before Lucien could hear another word. For a second, neither he nor Sera moved. The room suddenly felt too quiet. Claire was at the archive. Someone was there with her. And whatever she had found—the original death record of Lucien's father—was important enough that someone had apparently followed them to it. Lucien grabbed his jacket. "We're going." Sera was already reaching for hers. "You heard her." "I heard enough." They left the estate within minutes. The drive was almost silent. Blackridge blurred outside the windows as Lucien drove faster than usual. Sera kept checking her phone. No messages. No calls. Nothing. She hated the silence. It felt worse than hearing bad news. At last, the old archive building appeared ahead. The gates were open. Lucien slowed the car. "There." Sera saw the security vehicle parked outside. The driver's door was open. Nobody was inside. Lucien stopped. They got out. "Sera." She looked at him. "Stay close."
The words remained in the room. My family.Lucien stared at Elias.Sera could see the realization forming in his eyes.Not forgiveness.Not yet.But doubt.For the first time since Elias had been exposed, Lucien looked less certain that he understood what had happened."Your family?"Elias nodded."Where are they?""I don't know.""Don't lie to me.""I'm not.""Then how long?"Elias closed his eyes. "Years."Sera's breath caught. "Years?"Elias nodded. "Adrian found out about them.""Who?""My wife." He swallowed. "My daughter."The room went quiet.Sera looked at him."You have a daughter?"Elias nodded. "She's twelve."His voice cracked slightly. "I haven't seen her in three years."Lucien stared at him. "Why?""Because Adrian took them.""He kidnapped them?""Not exactly.""Then what?"Elias looked at her, "He made them disappear."The words were quiet. Terrifying."He showed me photographs.""Where are they?""I don't know.""Then how do you know they're alive?""I receive proof.
Nobody slept that night. The message was still on the table. YOU TRUSTED WRONG. Sera had read it so many times that the words had stopped looking like words. They looked like a warning. Or a threat. Maybe both. By six in the morning, the Devereaux estate had become a place of controlled chaos. Security officers were checking doors. Cameras were being reviewed. Access logs were being printed. Claire was moving between rooms with two phones in her hands. Mira had made coffee for everyone. Nobody drank it. Sera sat at the kitchen island, staring at a cup she had been holding for almost ten minutes.
The drive back to the Devereaux estate was quiet. Not peaceful. Quiet. There was a difference. Sera sat in the passenger seat, staring through the window as Blackridge passed them in fragments of yellow streetlights, closed shops, convenience stores that were still open despite the late hour, and apartments with warm windows glowing against the darkness. Ordinary lives. People going home. People probably complaining about work, deciding what to eat for dinner, reminding their children to finish their homework. Sera rested her forehead against the glass. Twenty-three years. She kept hearing the number. It had started before the massacre. Before her parents died.
The piece of paper was barely larger than Sera's palm.Three words.Ledger. Moved. East.Yet somehow, those three words felt heavier than everything else inside the abandoned Valmont house.Sera stood in front of the empty wall safe, staring at the paper Lucien held."East," she repeated.Lucien looked toward the windows."The property has an east wing.""I remember.""Do you?"Sera nodded slowly. "There used to be a smaller building behind the main house.""Where?""East side."She walked toward the hallway."I think my father used it as an office."Lucien followed."Think?""I was young."She stopped near the staircase. "I remember being told no







