Tessa hesitated, then stepped away from the desk, leading Vivi to a quieter corner of the hallway. “He’s stable. Vitals are good. Physically, he’s recovering well from the dehydration and the injury to his hands.”
“But?”
“But the conditioning is proving harder to break than we hoped.” Tessa’s voice was gentle but unflinching. “He has moments of lucidity—where he knows who he is, who you are. But they’re brief. And the episodes afterward...” She sighed. “They’re not pleasant to watch.”
“What happens in the episodes?”
“He becomes agitated. Violent. Insists he needs to return to his mission. That he serves Praetorian.” Tessa ran a hand overher face. “We’ve had to restrain him twice. The last time, he dislocated his own shoulder trying to break free.”
“Jesus.” Vivi leaned against the wall, suddenly needing the support. “But Daphne said she could break the conditioning.”
“She’s working on it. She’s been monitoring his neural patterns, testing different approaches. But it’s not like flipping a switch, Vivi. Whatever they did to him, it was thorough.”
Vivi closed her eyes briefly. “Can I see him?”
Tessa nodded. “He’s sedated right now. You can observe through the window, but I wouldn’t recommend going in. Not until we’re sure which version of him will wake up.”
She led Vivi down the corridor to a door with a small observation window. Inside, Sabin lay on a hospital bed, wrists secured with padded restraints. Even in sleep, his brow was furrowed, his mouth set in a tight line. It hurt to see him like this—her vibrant, mischievous brother reduced to a restrained patient in a locked room.
“I’ll give you some time,” Tessa said, touching her arm lightly before walking away.
Vivi pressed her palm against the glass, wishing she could reach through it and touch her brother’s hand. The last time she’d seen him truly himself had been at that party in New York, before everything went to hell. He’d been teasing her about Dom, his eyes dancing with that familiar mischief. “Just talk to him, Vivi,” he’d said. “The man’s still crazy about you, and you’re not fooling anyone pretending you’re over him.”
Now here they all were. Dom shot. Sabin brainwashed. And her, standing outside a locked room, wondering how the hell they were going to put any of this back together.
Her thoughts drifted to her parents. Her mother would know what to do about Sabin’s condition—Claire Cavalier was one of the most respected virologists in the world, with a background in neuroscience. Her father’s intelligence connections might helpthem understand what Praetorian had done, might even help track down Raines.
But calling them meant explaining everything. Not just the current crisis, but all of it—the thieving, Istanbul, the years of deception. The truth that their perfect daughter and son had been international thieves. That Sabin had gone to prison not for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, as they believed, but because he’d chosen to take the fall for a heist.
How did you even start that conversation?
She watched Sabin’s chest rise and fall, the steady rhythm of the sedatives keeping him under. He looked younger in sleep, almost like the boy who’d taught her how to pick her first lock when she was nine. “It’s like solving a puzzle with your fingers,” he’d told her. “Listen for the clicks. Feel for the give.”
She’d always followed his lead. Always trusted him to know the way forward. Now, for the first time, she was the one who had to figure it out. And she had no idea where to start.
With a last look at her brother, she turned and headed back toward Dom’s room. She needed to be there when he faced his parents’ questions. Needed to support him the way he’d supported her through all of this.
She was halfway down the corridor when she heard voices—Jude’s distinctive cadence carrying from around the corner. She slowed, not meaning to eavesdrop but unable to help herself when she heard the urgency in his tone.
“This is the third close call in as many months,” Jude was saying. “First, Liam in the subway, then Elliot in Antarctica, now Dom shot and Sabin...whatever the hell they’ve done to Sabin. What’s really going on?”
Vivi pressed herself against the wall, just out of sight. Davey’s reply was measured.
“We’ve had some setbacks,” Davey replied, his voice steady. “But everything’s under control.”
“Bullshit,” Jude said mildly, without heat but with absolute certainty.
Vivi heard footsteps, then silence. She could picture Jude pacing, processing what he’d been told, weighing it against whatever his instincts were telling him.
“You know,” Jude finally said, his voice softer now, “your uncles and I built this company on the principle that family comes before business. Always. No matter what.”
“We know, Dad,” Davey’s voice was tight.
“Do you? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you boys are carrying something heavy. Something you’re not sharing.”
“Dad—” Elliot started.
“No, let me finish.” Jude’s voice grew firmer. “I know you’re not telling me everything. I’m choosing to trust you. I’d like that trust not to be a mistake.”
