My sister died five minutes after giving birth in an abandoned clinic, leaving her newborn in the arms of a woman running from a mob boss.

The screen of the tablet flickered in the darkened room.

Lucy was asleep in Claire’s lap, wrapped in the wool blanket that had carried her through the storm. Rowan sat beside Claire on the worn leather sofa, his uninjured arm resting along the back of the cushions, close enough that Claire could feel the steady warmth of his body.

Maddox hit play.

The image resolved into the interior of a dimly lit, rundown motel room. Nora Hale sat on the edge of an unmade bed. She was eight months pregnant, her face thin and exhausted, but her dark eyes—the exact shade and shape of Rowan’s—burned with an unmistakable, defiant brilliance.

Around her neck hung the silver locket.

*“Rowan,”* Nora’s voice came through the small speakers, raspy and tired, but carrying the distinct, sharp cadence of the Hale family. *“If you’re seeing this, it means I was wrong. It means I couldn't outrun Julian’s brother on my own.”*

Rowan’s jaw set into stone. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his eyes devouring every pixel of his sister’s face.

*“I hated you for a long time,”* Nora continued, a sad, self-deprecating smile touching her lips. *“I hated you because you locked the gates. I hated you because you treated me like a piece of cargo that had to be guarded in a vault. I thought you were cruel. But when Julian died... when I saw how easily men like Victor Sloane destroy everything good in the world, I finally understood what you were fighting against.”*

She reached up, her thumb brushing the face of the locket.

*“I’m sorry I ran, Rowan. I’m sorry I didn't come to you when Julian first brought me the files. I was proud. I wanted to prove that a Hale didn't need your shadow to survive. And that pride might cost me my life.”*

Nora looked directly into the lens, as if she could see her brother sitting in the dark room twenty-four hours after her death.

*“Victor Sloane isn't just smuggling weapons, Rowan. Julian found out Victor is planning to blow the southern fuel terminal at the deep-water harbor. He’s staging an industrial disaster to drive down port authority stock, collect five hundred million in insurance, and force the city to privatize the entire shipping yard under his corporate umbrella. He’s going to burn three square miles of the waterfront to get total control.”*

Maddox muttered a dark oath under his breath. Rowan didn't move.

*“Julian’s files have the names of the demolition contractors, the explosive manifests, and Victor’s offshore holding accounts,”* Nora said. *“Take it to the federal attorney in Philadelphia. Don't trust the city police. Don't trust the state troopers. Only Philadelphia has the jurisdiction to bypass Victor’s judges.”*

Nora paused. She leaned closer to the camera, her expression softening into something so tender it made Claire’s throat close up.

*“And Rowan... if Claire is with you, listen to me.”*

Claire gasped softly, her fingers tightening around the edge of Lucy’s blanket.

*“Claire is the only person who stayed when everyone else ran,”* Nora whispered, tears finally slipping down her cheeks. *“She’s stubborn, she’s terrified of being left behind, and she would die before she let anyone hurt Lucy. Don't lock her in a tower, Rowan. Don't treat her like cargo. Protect them... but let her stand beside you. Give Lucy the family we lost.”*

The screen flickered. Nora reached toward the lens.

*“I love you, big brother. I’m giving my girl to you. Don't let me down.”*

The video went black.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Outside, the waves crashed violently against the rocks beneath the signal station, a relentless, roaring cadence.

Rowan sat unmoving for a long time. Then, very slowly, he lowered his head into his hands. His broad shoulders shook once—a single, silent convulsion of grief that he had held back for a decade.

Claire didn't say a word. She shifted Lucy gently into the crook of her left arm, then reached over and laid her hand against Rowan’s back, right between his shoulder blades. She pressed her palm flat, grounding him, offering the steady, unyielding warmth that Nora had known she possessed.

Rowan turned his head. His eyes were red-rimmed, but behind the sorrow, an ancient, terrifying fire had ignited.

He looked at Lucy, sleeping peacefully against Claire’s chest. Then he looked at Claire.