Helen stood before the gallery wall, her eyes tracing the timeline of a life that seemed too big for one man.Chef. Doctor. Pilot. Father. Widower.She took a step toward the portrait of the pregnant woman —Aria— wanting to see the color of her eyes, but her foot didn't land where she thought it would. The floor seemed to tilt, pitching to the left like the deck of a ship in a storm."Whoa," she whispered, reaching out for the wall.Her fingers scrabbled against the smooth plaster, but they couldn't find a grip. The grand portraits began to blur, the faces of the West men melting into streaks of oil and color. The high ceiling spun. A sharp, piercing whine filled her ears, drowning out the hum of the air conditioning.‘No’, she thought, panic rising in her chest. ‘Not now. I just got out.’She tried to turn, to call out for help, but her tongue felt thick and heavy in her mouth. The darkness crept in from the edges of her vision, a black vignette closing in fast. The last thing she sa

The walk from the history gallery to the main entrance felt like moving between two different worlds. One was steeped in the past —oil paintings and dead ancestors— and the other was rushing headlong into a future Helen wasn't sure she belonged in.They reached a set of doors that were less like doors and more like the gates to a fortress. Made of seamless, brushed titanium and glass, they stood at least twenty feet tall. As Adrian approached, sensors that Helen couldn't even see read his biometric signature.With a soft, hydraulic hiss that sounded like a spaceship depressurizing, the massive slabs of metal slid open.The air that hit Helen’s face wasn't the stale, recycled air of the medical wing. It was fresh, carrying the scent of salt spray, pine needles, and something crisp —like ozone after a thunderstorm. This was a scifi movie, she thought. It just had to be"Come," Adrian said, offering his arm.Helen, who was still wrapped in her white hospital dress, took it. She stepped o

Helen stood entirely paralyzed, the cold ocean breeze whipping her hospital gown around her ankles. She stared at the old man standing on the hovering platform, her mind completely short-circuiting."No," Helen stammered, shaking her head so fast it made her dizzy again. She pulled back a fraction of an inch, staring at the rough, wrinkled hand that was currently cupping her cheek. "No. It's not possible. You're dead."John Cross offered a warm, raspy chuckle. He didn't pull his hand away. He let her feel the warmth of his skin, the steady pulse at his wrist."I know what you saw on the screens, my dear," John said gently. "But the screens lie. I am right here."Helen reached up, her trembling fingers wrapping around his wrist. He was solid. He was warm. He smelled like his favorite pipe tobacco and peppermint—a scent no hologram could ever replicate. A choked sob ripped through her throat. She threw her arms around his neck, burying her face into the lapel of his slightly oversized s

"I was in shock," John whispered, wiping his face with a heavy sigh. "I couldn't move. But my mind was racing. If Ethan was willing to kill me, who else was involved? Was Sasha in on it? Were my brothers? I realized right then that I didn't know my own family anymore. The evil was rooted too deep. If I just stood up from that bed and pointed a finger, Ethan would deny it. He had the money, he had the board members in his pocket and I was weak. He would just try again, and next time, he wouldn't miss."John looked up, his eyes meeting Helen's. They were filled with a fierce, burning resolve. "And so, I closed my eyes. And I decided to play dead. I needed to see exactly who would stand by me, and who would dance on my grave."Helen processed the information, her logical mind fighting through the emotional fog. She sniffed, wiping her nose with a silk napkin."Okay. Okay, I understand why you did it," Helen said, her brows knitting together in deep confusion. "But how? Grandpa, I saw the

The yellow cab didn't even make it to the island."This is as far as I go, buddy," the driver said, slamming the brakes.Fegor looked out the window. They were at a private port on the edge of the mainland. Beyond the heavily guarded docks, the dark ocean stretched out, and in the distance, rising from the water like a glowing fortress, was the Island. It didn't look like a piece of land. It looked like a floating country, glittering with skyscrapers, massive domes, and a central peak that touched the clouds.Fegor paid the driver with the last of his cash, grabbed his battered duffel bag, and stepped out into the freezing night air.He had to take a public transit ferry just to get to the outer ring of the island. The ferry was filled with wealthy businessmen, tourists with heavy wallets, and people who looked like they owned private yachts but were slumming it for the experience. They all stared at Fegor. They looked at his swollen, purple eye, his busted lip, and his torn, cheap s