Melissa’s gaze moved between us, her conviction unwavering. “In my opinion, the best thing to do is let it spread and do nothing. Just live your lives as if none of this matters. Sinclair, you should keep doing whatever it is you do, and Rowen, you can continue being a professor and help Sinclair when it’s necessary.”
She drew a quiet breath, her voice softer but no less certain. “This life you both lead—the one I’ve been pulled into—it’s never going to change. I understand that now. There will always be another person with a grudge, someone seeking more power. No matter how hard you try, you can’t stop them all. But you can refuse to give them the attention and importance they crave.”
Melissa offered a small, resolute nod. “So, my advice is to do nothing.”
Sinclair considered Melissa’s words, the muscles in his jaw tensing as he weighed their truth. He seemed to want to argue, to insist there was more they could do, but fatigue and the echo of loss drained his fight. I watched him exhale slowly, surrendering to the idea that sometimes, letting go is the only way forward.
“Maybe you’re right,” he murmured, eyes distant but thoughtful. “I’ve spent so much time trying to control the uncontrollable. Perhaps it’s time to let the chips fall where they may and focus on what we can change.”
Melissa offered a soft smile, the first hint of hope flickering in the dim room. I felt the weight shift, as if the storm outside had finally begun to pass. For a moment, we simply sat together, united by the bonds forged in grief and resilience, silently promising to carry on—each in our own way.
“What about Madigan?” I asked. “You and I both gave our word to Salvatore that we would protect her.”
“And I always keep my word.” Sinclair sighed heavily. “I will take care of her personally. How goes the hunt for Mr. Michaels?”
Groaning, I hung my head. “It doesn’t. The man has vanished. Gone underground.”
“Wait a minute,” Melissa interrupted. Sitting up straighter, she looked at me. “You said he and his brother were trained fighters, right before things went to shit for them. Is it possible he went back to what he knows? Could he be underground fighting again?”
Sinclair slowly sat up, looking at me. “It’s possible.”
Shaking my head, I groaned and nodded. “If he’s hiding in the underworld arena, he won’t be easy to find. There are several spots alone in this city, and I don’t have the luxury to enter unless I’m fighting.”
“But Sinclair and I can, right?” Melissa asked.
Looking over at her, I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t want you anywhere near those places. It’s dangerous, Melissa. Anything can happen down there, and it generally does. There is no law, only death.”
Sinclair leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. “Braesal O’Malley called me for a favor,” he said, his tone grave. “He informed me that Sylvia St. James is alive and was working with Tyran Fitzpatrick.”
I frowned, picking up on the subtle emphasis. “Was?”
Sinclair nodded. “Mr. Fitzpatrick is dead. However, Mrs. St. James got away.”
Shaking my head, I let out a frustrated groan. “Sylvia St. James is smart, Sinclair. Smarter than you. If she’s resurfaced, she wants something or someone. What did O’Malley ask?”
Sinclair’s gaze was unwavering. “To find the woman and eliminate her.”
I couldn’t help but let out a humorless laugh. “I hope you told him no, because I know I’m good, but I’m not that good.”
Dead silence filled the room, broken only by the echo of Sinclair’s last words. Melissa’s eyes darted between us, uncertain whether to speak. A sense of dread settled over me; the request wasn’t just risky—it was a death sentence for anyone foolish enough to accept.
“You’re not seriously considering it, are you?” My voice barely registered above the pounding in my chest, each word trembling as if afraid to be spoken. Sinclair’s jaw worked furiously, his silence stretching, thick with uncertainty. Melissa reached over, her hand quivering as she placed it atop mine—a small gesture, but it anchored me, kept me from unraveling.
“We have to,” Sinclair replied, almost a whisper, yet it felt like a thunderclap. “If she’s resurfaced, she’s already two steps ahead. She’s Madigan’s grandmother—our debt to Salvatore doesn’t end here. And she’s still a threat.” He paused, his eyesdarkening. “I don’t need to spell out what happens to Madigan if Sylvia gets her hands on her.”
The air seemed to thicken, pressing against my ribs. My breath came shallow, tightening at the thought of Sylvia St. James—no ordinary nemesis. We both felt it; the room was heavy with dread, its silence buzzing in our ears.
“Wait... Who is Sylvia St. James, really?” Melissa’s voice was small, but it cut through the haze. She pulled her hand away, tucking it nervously into her lap.
I tried to swallow the knot in my throat. Sinclair’s eyes met mine, haunted. “She’s a monster dressed in designer clothes,” he said, the words clipped and cold. “Mrs. St. James ran the Division—a branch of theSociety, led by Jane Craven, before Craven died. Division was supposed to gather the best minds, scientists and doctors. But that’s not all.”
Melissa’s brow furrowed. “Division? What did they do?”
Sinclair shifted, his fists clenched. “They handled everything—breakthroughs in medicine, scientific discoveries. In the early 1990s, Sylvia started a charity, Sunshine Child, to help orphans. But she used a sub-charity, Sunshine Kids, for something else.”
“What was different about Sunshine Kids?” Melissa pressed, her knuckles white.
I drew a shaky breath, the memory searing. “Sunshine Kids was linked to hospitals and adoption agencies. Its real purpose was to find exceptional children—those with high IQs. They’d pull kids from anywhere, even places like the Trick Pony, or snatch them off the street. The gifted ones went to Sunshine Kids; the rest... went back to places like the Trick Pony.”
