The silence in the basement was different now. It wasn't the frantic, sweaty panic of Lucas; it was the heavy, pressurized silence of a deep-sea trench. My father, Richard Smith, stood in the light of the service elevator, his silhouette looking like a monolith of old power. "You look surprised, Sara," my father said, his voice as smooth and cold as a tombstone. He stepped out of the lift, the tap of his cane on the concrete sounding like a death knell. "Did you think I brought you back to the Tower just to watch you play house with a König?" "I brought you back to be a Smith," he continued, his eyes flicking to Matthias with a dismissive sneer. "And a Smith does not share her bed or her board with the enemy. You’ve traded one weakness for another. You let your heart—or whatever is left of it—lead you into a trap." I felt Matthias stiffen beside me, his hand tightening on the signal jammer. "It wasn't a trap, Richard," Matthias said, his voice regaining its lethal edge. "It was a
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