East stops pacing mid-stride, eyes narrowing. “You went alone?” His voice has bite, but there’s worry in it too. Hidden, sharp.
I nod once. “Didn’t know what I’d find.” Truth was, I didn’t want anyone else walking into those ghosts with me. It was mine to carry. Mine to bleed.
Kyle shifts, his voice hushed. “What was in it?” He already knows it wasn’t nothing. The air’s too thick for coincidence.
I peel back the lid. The scent of mildew and old ink hits me, a memory to the face. “Evidence,” I say slowly. “Plans. Pieces of something bigger... that Cornelius never got to finish.” Cornelius had been digging. I knew that. Knew he was trying to figure out why every legal path to my brother and sister kept slamming shut. But I didn’t realize how close he’d gotten. How far down the rot went.
This wasn’t buried by accident. It was hidden to protect someone. To silence him before he could drag it into the light.
These weren’t pieces we stumbled on. They were pieces he died for. Now that I’ve seen them, I can’t look away.
Nash steps forward, his silhouette a wall of stillness. “What kind of plan?” His voice is quiet, but it cuts like a blade.
I meet each of their gazes. My brothers. My family. “It wasn’t just a murder scene. Cornelius knew something was wrong. He knew Donovan Castiel had ties to the shipping yard. Heard the whispers, maybe even saw the signs. My brother and sister were taken that night. Cornelius went there because he thought that’s where they’d be moved, where they’d disappear if no one stopped it. He didn’t plan an escape. He wasn’t running. Cornelius went in to fight. And he didn’t make it out.” My voice should crack here. It doesn’t. I’ve forgotten how to cry.
Knox leans forward. His voice is calm, but there’s tension in the tight lines around his eyes. “You’re talking about... the night he died?”
“Yeah.” I force the word past the stone in my throat. “He died in that warehouse. Trying to find them. I showed up too late. They were already gone.” The silence after settles, a grave sealing shut.
The silence that follows is heavy. Grief. Anger. Shared loss. It settles between us like soot. We don’t speak of Cornelius often. But we all carry his name as armor. I lay the first file flat on the table, the photo on top curling at the edges.
“Now we have proof Donovan Castiel was directly involved.” I want to scrub the name from my mouth. But I need them to hear it.
The news rips through the room, a bullet through bone. East drops a curse under his breath. Knox stiffens, shoulders coiled. Kyle stands straighter, eyes wide.
They’ve heard the name in the shadows. Now it’s at our table.
“That name’s been a ghost for years,” East mutters. “Every time we think we’ve got him, he disappears. Slips right through.” I don’t say it, but I want to scream that he won’t slip through me.
“Not this time.” I pull out the next document, my fingers smudged with dust and ink. “He left a trail. Enough to put him at the scene the night Cornelius died.”
I slap the final paper down. A single line scrawled in red ink chills the room more than anything else.Ensure Graves votes yes. Use leverage.
Nash reads it aloud, his voice razor-thin. “Graves.”
East’s head jerks up. “Winston Graves,” he says. His voice is low and lethal. The name alone is enough to poison the air.
The mayor. The same bastard who tried to sell his own daughter. We already had enough to take him down for that, but this? Now we had proof he was part of something bigger. Something that cost lives.
East doesn’t speak right away. But his breathing changes. His shoulders lock. I see it; this isn’t just strategy anymore. It’s personal.
Graves’ name sinks in, cold as poured ice. This time, the rage isn’t silent. It simmers. Hums through the room, a storm gathering beneath our feet.
East turns away, pacing to the wall. His fists clench. He still doesn’t speak, but something’s cracking beneath the surface. And I recognize it because I’ve broken the same way.
But East doesn’t break the way the rest of us do. He calcifies. That’s always been his tell. When the silence stretches too long, it means something old just woke up. Something he’s been holding back for years.
Then the door opens. Frankie steps inside, quiet as a whisper, her boots making no sound. A shiver dances up my spine. There’s always something otherworldly about her. Her bones carry truths the rest of us forgot.
“I invited her,” I say before anyone can object. “She’s not patched. But she sees things. Feels what we miss. And she’s earned this.”
No one argues.
“And Candace will be here soon too.” My voice doesn’t waver. “This isn’t protocol. I know that. But it matters. She matters. And I trust her to carry this.”
Knox gives a slight nod. Nash doesn’t even blink.
Then Candace enters. No knock. No hesitation. The moment she crosses the threshold, the air shifts. The weight in my chest realigns. Steadies.
