Irene sat at the edge of the couch, her mom curled up next to her with a mug of tea and a fuzzy blanket wrapped around her like armor. The TV was playing some crime show rerun, but neither of them were watching it. Not really.The apartment felt quieter than usual. Like even the air was holding its breath.“You gonna eat?” her mom asked, voice soft but worried.Irene shook her head. “Not hungry.”“You didn’t sleep either.”“I said I’m fine.”Her mom gave her a look. That kind of tired, motherly stare that meant I know you’re lying, but I’m too exhausted to argue about it right now.Irene pulled her hoodie tighter around her body and rested her head against the back of the couch. She hadn’t changed since the hospital. Her shoes were still on. Her phone was still clutched in her hand, even though it hadn’t buzzed once in the last hour.Until it did.Buzz.She sat up so fast her mom flinched. Irene looked at the screen.“STATION. URGENT. GET HERE NOW.”No name. Just the message. But it w

The motel room smelled like bleach and bad decisions.One light flickered near the bathroom. The AC made a wheezing sound every five minutes like it was dying slow. The wallpaper was peeling like it didn’t even want to be there.But it was safe. For now.Davion sat on the floor, back against the bed frame, staring at the half-crushed energy drink in his hand like it had answers. It didn’t.Irene was pacing. Obviously.She did this thing where she chewed her thumb nail and muttered ideas under her breath like no one else could hear. Everyone could.Beverly lay sideways across the bed with her hoodie pulled up over her face, just a voice now and then from under the fabric.“I swear,” she mumbled, “if we all die doing this, I’m haunting someone. Just saying.”Irene ignored her. “Okay, so this place Davion’s talking about—this file room—it’s in the lower compound, right? Past the chapel?”Davion nodded without looking up. “Yeah. You go through the hall with the black pillars. There’s a ke

Margaret was pacing. Again.Back and forth across the living room like her heels could wear a hole into the tiles.“She’s out there with him, Wesley. That boy. That curse. Do you understand that? Our daughter is God-knows-where with a walking disaster and you’re just—just sitting there like everything’s fine!”Wesley took a slow sip of his tea. Calm. Measured. Exactly the kind of thing that made Margaret want to throw the mug across the room.“She’s not a child anymore, Maggie.”“She’s our child!”“Exactly,” Wesley replied, folding his newspaper. “And she’s Old enough to make her own messes. And old enough to fix them.”Margaret stopped mid-step, her mouth twitching like she might explode. “Fix them? Wesley, she was almost sacrificed on a table. She came home in a coma. Her arm is still bruised. And the boy who dragged her into all of this is the one she ran back to!”Wesley sighed. “You don’t know that.”“Oh, I do,” Margaret snapped. “I told him to leave. I told him to get away from

The motel room was dead silent, except for the hum of the fridge and Beverly’s soft breathing beside him. Davion hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He never did. But exhaustion had finally wrestled him down, pulled him under before he even knew it.And now—Now there was a cold metal barrel pressed against his temple.His eyes snapped open. The first thing he saw was the gun. The second was the man holding it — black mask, no sound, no scent, no hesitation. Professional. The kind you only meet once, if you’re lucky.Davion didn’t move.Behind him, Beverly was still asleep, curled up with her face half-buried in his hoodie.The assassin pulled a laptop from his bag with his free hand. He clicked it open, pressed play.A video.Mad Tiger.Smiling like someone who thought he had already won.“Hello, son,” the recording said. “Let’s skip the boring threats. You know the rules. You come with him — quietly. No drama. No running. No tricks. You’ve been hard to track, but we always find our own.”D

Beverly woke up with a headache that felt like it was trying to split her skull open from the inside.Everything was too white.The walls. The ceiling. Even the sheets wrapped tight around her like restraints. She blinked against the blinding light overhead and tried to sit up, but her limbs felt like rubber. Her body wasn’t listening.Her last memory snapped back all at once.A dart. Her mom’s arms. Davion’s voice shouting.Her heart launched into her throat. She ripped the covers back, adrenaline slicing through the grogginess, and shoved herself upright.The door opened just as she stood.And in walked Margaret.Holding a glass of water like this was normal. Like she hadn’t just helped drug and kidnap her own daughter.“You should be resting,” Margaret said calmly, placing the water on the bedside table.Beverly stared. “Where am I?”Margaret didn’t flinch. “Safe.”“That’s not an answer.”“You’re in a private estate. A compound Trevor secured. It’s far from all that mess.” Margaret