Find out what comes next as the story continues in the following chapter.

The lodge was buried in snow, the drifts piled high against the log walls like a soft, white shroud. It was the middle of the night, the temperature well below freezing, the silence broken only by the occasional groan of the wind through the mountaintop pines.

I approached the lodge through the forest, moving with a ghost-like grace I hadn't possessed a week ago. My gear was sparse—a tactical knife, a compact infrared scope, and a small, electronic jamming device I’d salvaged from the Seattle warehouse.

I reached the perimeter. The laser tripwires were active, but I knew the pattern from the ledger notes. I moved through the blind spots, my body aching with every movement, my heart beating in a steady, controlled rhythm.

I reached the back deck. The sliding glass door was locked, but the frame was old, the wood warped by the mountain climate. I used the small, flat pry bar I’d bought in town, easing the lock until the door slid open with a soft, almost imperceptible scrape.

The lodge was warm and smelled of pine needles and wood smoke. It was a domestic scene, perfectly curated—a blanket on the sofa, a half-empty glass of wine on the coffee table, a child’s toy left in the middle of the room.

I moved through the shadows. I found the master bedroom. Alex was there, sleeping deeply, his breathing heavy and rhythmic.

I stood over the bed, my hand on the handle of the knife.

It would be so easy. One strike, and the nightmare would be over.

But then I saw it—on the nightstand, a framed picture of Chloe.

If I killed him here, he would die a martyr. Rachel would paint him as a victim, and I would be the villain who had destroyed a family. I didn't want him dead. I wanted him exposed.

I walked to the closet, found his laptop, and plugged in the final thumb drive. I spent ten minutes configuring the automated upload—the ledger, the trafficking records, the proof of his involvement in the first Maya’s death.

It was set to trigger in one hour.

I turned to leave, but then I heard a noise—a small, soft footstep in the hallway.

The door opened, and Chloe stood there, her eyes wide, clutching Mr. Buttons to her chest. She looked at me, her gaze shifting from my face to the knife in my hand, then back to my face.

She didn't scream.

"Maya?" she whispered.

I lowered the knife, my heart shattering. "Chloe."

"Are you... are you here to take us away?" she asked, her voice small, filled with a hope that tore through my armor.

"I'm here to fix things, sweetie," I said, my voice trembling.

"I don't like it here," she said, her eyes filling with tears. "He's not nice. He's always on his computer. And the lady... she makes me stay in my room."

"I know," I said, moving toward her and kneeling down. "I'm going to take you home. Not to the brownstone, but to somewhere safe."

"Is Mommy coming?"

The question stopped me. How could I explain that the woman she called Mommy was the architect of her misery?

"I'm your mommy now, Chloe," I said, a decision forming in my mind. "And we’re going to be okay."

I stood up, took her hand, and together, we walked out of the lodge, leaving Alex sleeping in his bed, blissfully unaware that in less than an hour, the world he had built would turn to ash.