“Julian Mercer?”The woman’s voice was clipped, British, and laced with suspicion. She stood by the porch, her white blouse too crisp for the heat, her eyes sharp like she could see straight through the lie I’d written on the form.“That’s me,” I said, keeping my tone calm and my hands buried in my pockets.Her gaze flicked over me once; the cheap duffel, the rolled sleeves, the way I avoided the gold band on her finger. She nodded toward the doorway. “You’re late.”I almost told her that people like me are born late, always running behind what they’re owed, but I bit my tongue. Instead, I stepped into the house that smelled of lemon polish and old money.The Ardmore estate wasn’t a home; it was a reminder that time and wealth could be passed down like blood. Portraits stared down at me — stern men in dark suits, women who probably never laughed in public.“This way,” the woman said. “Mr. Ardmore is waiting.”I followed her into a library that looked untouched by dust or affection. A

“Great,” I muttered, rattling the handle again. It didn’t budge. “He locked us in.”Lila’s voice was barely a whisper. “He doesn’t usually come down here.”“Yeah? Guess I’m an exception.”The air was colder below ground, thick with the scent of old stone and smoke. My flashlight beam trembled against the walls, catching faint shapes — boxes stacked along the edges, shelves lined with framed photos, and something that looked too much like an altar.Lila stood a few steps away, her arms wrapped around herself. “You shouldn’t have followed me.”I aimed the light at her face, and she flinched. “You knew this was here. You led me straight to it.”Her chin lifted in quiet defiance. “I didn’t lead you anywhere. You were already following the ghosts.”“Don’t twist it,” I said. “You knew my mother. You knew what happened to her.”Her eyes softened. “I only know what they let me know. The rest… they buried.”I stepped closer, the floor creaking under my boots. “Then help me dig.”She exhaled, s

We didn’t stop driving until the estate disappeared completely from the rearview mirror. The road stretched ahead like an open wound, empty and endless, and the only sound was the hum of the engine and Lila’s uneven breathing beside me.She stared out the window, her reflection ghosted in the glass. “He’s not going to let us walk away.”“I know.” My voice was low, controlled, the way it used to get when things fell apart. “That’s why we don’t walk. We run.”I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. The night was thick, the headlights cutting through it like a blade. Somewhere behind us, the Ardmore estate stood — a nest of lies, fire, and blood. Somewhere behind us, Thomas Ardmore was already planning his next move.Lila turned to me. “Where are we going?”“Somewhere quiet. I know a place.”She didn’t ask how. She didn’t have to. The way I said it made her understand that men like me always have a place to disappear.We stopped at a rundown inn near the coast, where the walls smelled

The sea was restless that morning, gray waves folding into each other, dragging the past out with every pull. The old car rattled along the coastal road, the horizon nothing but salt and wind. Julian’s hand was still wrapped in gauze, his knuckles stiff, his ribs bruised from the crash, but his eyes were clear now — too clear, like someone who’d finally stepped out of the fire only to find there was no smoke left to hide in.Lila hadn’t spoken in hours. She sat curled against the window, watching the water shift colors as dawn rose over it. Her reflection trembled in the glass, pale and tired, hair tangled from the wind. The silence between them had changed; it wasn’t sharp anymore, just hollow, like both of them had said too much already.Julian stopped the car at a deserted stretch of beach. The sand was coarse and cold, the tide coming in slow. He stepped out first, his boots sinking into the damp ground, the wind tugging at his coat. Lila followed without a word, her bare feet tra

The sound came again closer this time soft and measured, the rhythm of someone who had every right to be there. Lila’s breath caught, and Julian’s hand moved instinctively to the small gun holstered beneath his coat. The firelight from the half-collapsed room flickered weakly against the wet walls, painting ghosts that moved when they didn’t.Then a shape appeared at the far end of the corridor, framed by what was left of the doorway. For a heartbeat the world forgot how to breathe.The woman stepped into the light. Her hair was streaked with silver, her coat heavy and worn, her face both familiar and strange older, thinner, but unmistakable. The lines around her mouth were carved by years of silence, and her eyes, though dimmer, still carried the same deliberate calm that once could stop a room.Julian froze. “Mom?”Her voice trembled but didn’t break. “You shouldn’t have come back, Julian.”Lila turned, her hand tightening around his sleeve. “Helena?”The woman’s gaze flicked to her