Semua Bab In the Wake of Truth: Bab 61 - Bab 67

(Jane’s POV)The name flashing on my screen wasn’t just any name.Dr. Victoria Green.My therapist.I hadn’t spoken to her since that last session months ago—the one where I walked into her office carrying far more than just the weight of betrayal.I stared at the screen a moment too long, the vibration against my palm crawling like that of a weird insect, unsure of which direction to take.For a few seconds, I didn’t move. Then, as if accepting what I already knew I had to do, my thumb hovered midair.Claus and Andrew both noticed.“I need to take this,” I said quietly, already rising. “Just a moment—I’ll be right back.”On any other day, I wouldn’t have let a single second slip—not with everything we were trying to make sense of: Julia, Lara, the hidden archive floors at HAB, the attacks, and how it all connected.But this call was different.Dr. Victoria Green wasn’t just a therapist. She was the only person who’d held space for my crumbling truth the day Julia confessed.The one wh

(Julia’s POV)They didn’t bind my hands, maybe because I was a woman, or maybe because they hadn’t fully figured out what I’d done before I fled the estate.But that didn’t make the grip on my arm any lighter, or the look of one of the patrolman’s face any easier to ignore under the harsh glare of the truck’s headlights.He said nothing. None of them did. Just short, clipped instructions exchanged between them.“Secure the vehicle.” “Confirm her identity.”“Record bodycam feed.”I was escorted to the side of the road, past the blinking headlights of the Hilux I’d jammed multiple times during my escape, and into the harsh glow of their security lights.The estate’s protocol wasn’t messy or dramatic. It was professional and rigid.One patrolman retrieved my phone from the Hilux. Another carefully bagged it. One stood recording the entire exchange while another began filling out a tablet form, his gloved fingers moving briskly over the screen.“Name,” one of them asked, not even looking

(Luke Linderman’s POV)It had been two days since Julia was taken into custody. Forty-eight uneasy hours of meticulously maintained quietness, broken only by updates given at regular intervals and the echo of failed damage control.I had left the guesthouse near the New York–Massachusetts border the morning after her arrest. It had served its purpose which was privacy, distance, and deniability.Now I was back in Connecticut, standing by the tall, arched window of my white mansion’s study, watching the clouds gather in a strangely mesmerizing formation, as if the sky itself was pointing accusatory fingers at me.The mansion was unusually quiet. No soft jazz or blues drifting through the hallways, no idle chatter from the staff or my bodyguards. Just a silence dense enough to feel like the aftermath of a mission gone wrong.I turned away from the window and downed the last of my brandy. Bitter and hot—fitting, in every sense.Pedro had remained in New York, doing his best to right his w