Malcolm disappeared toward the building, and Rhea and William settled into an easy silence at first, watching the other inmates scattered across the lawn, the guards drifting between them with their usual disinterested patience. But minutes stretched on, and Malcolm didn't return. "He's taking a while," William said eventually, glancing toward the building. Rhea checked the time on her phone, unease creeping in slowly. "It's been almost twenty minutes." They approached the nearest guard together, William smiling at him, "Excuse me — our father went inside a while ago. Do you know what's taking him so long?" The guard didn't so much as glance at them, staring straight ahead like they hadn't spoken at all. "Hello?" William tried again, raising his voice. "We're just asking a question." The guard still didn't utter a word. Rhea's stomach twisted with a m

In the distance, Rhea could see two figures moving across the field with golf clubs in hand — Reginald and Darius, sleeves rolled up, laughing at something the old man had just said. Holt stood a respectful distance away, spine straight as a rod, watching over them both. Darius spotted her first. He waved, said something to Reginald, and jogged across the grass toward her with a warm, easy smile. "Ah ah, babe, did you bring us drinks?" Before Rhea could answer, he wiped his sweaty palms down the front of his trousers and reached for the nearest glass — the laced one. "No, don't!" Rhea's voice cracked out sharp and loud, startling a bird from the nearby hedge. "Put it back." Darius froze, his hand hovering, then carefully lowered the glass back onto the tray, blinking at her in bewildered surprise. "What's wrong? Did I do something?" Rhea forced a smile onto her face, a stiff, brittle thing that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Noth

"I have nothing to do with that," Rhea said, her voice rising now, panic bleeding through the careful composure she'd been holding onto. "Why are you questioning me like this?" Natasha leaned forward slightly, meeting her eyes directly. "Because I think you laced that drink with something. For what reason, though? Well, I already have it under investigation." Rhea's heart jumped straight into her throat, her mouth going dry, but no words came. Natasha continued, relentless. "If this investigation turns out to be what I think it is," Natasha said, quiet and absolutely certain, "you are going to rot in a jail cell, Rhea. I promise you that. You've been moving weird, and I think it's important we get you out of this house before it's too late." Just then, the monitor beside the bed began to beep sharply, faster and faster, the number on the screen climbing rapidly as Rhea's blood pressure spiked. Rhea's breathing turned shallow, panic and pain tangling together across her face.

Darius didn’t notice it at dinner, either, the evening Reginald arrived at the table a few minutes early, settling into his usual chair at the head with a contented sigh. "Rhea, my dear," Reginald said warmly, unfolding his napkin. "You're looking stronger every day. That knee giving you any trouble?" For the briefest fraction of a second, Rhea shifted uncomfortably, like she wasn't expecting Reginald at the table today. Then she smiled, leaning into the warmth of his attention. "Much better, thank you," she said. "I actually managed the stairs on my own this morning." "Wonderful news," Reginald said, beaming, and turned to signal the staff for the first course. It happened again two days later, in the small sitting room off the kitchen, where Holt was polishing a set of silverware when Rhea wandered in, leaning lightly on her crutch. "Holt," she said, settling into the chair across from him with the casual ease of someone simply passing time. "Can I ask you something? It

Natasha reached into her jacket again and withdrew a small, neatly folded stack of bills, holding it where only he could see it, close against her side. Deacon's gaze flicked down to it, then back up to her face, weighing something behind his eyes. "A recording," he said finally, slowly, like he was testing the shape of the idea out loud. "The next time Rhea Kane comes to see her father," Natasha said. "I need audio. The full conversation, start to finish, if you can manage it." "That's a federal facility, lady. There's rules—" "It shouldn't be hard," Natasha said. "I just need someone willing to make sure it's actually recording, and hand me the file afterward." Deacon glared at the wad of cash before pocketing it. "I'll see what I can do." So now, parked three spaces down from the prison's visitor lot in a gray sedan she'd borrowed specifically for the occasion, Natasha watched Rhea limp her way toward the entrance on her crutch, su