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“No,” Zaire's voice cuts through the room like a blade. "Absolutely not. We don't need to go there. Not now.”

“She has a right to know,” Alex argues.

“Know what?” Vesper interjects between Z and Alex’s standoff.

“Mario had photos of you on his computer.”

Vesper's head snaps toward him, her green eyes narrowing. “What photos? What is he talking about?”

The tension in the room thickens as Alex hesitates, his fingers tapping nervously against his thigh.

“Tell me,” Vesper demands.

Alex exhales slowly. “When I was going through Mario's computer, I found a folder with your name on it. It contained photos of you...from your time in captivity. Intimate photos.”

The color drains from Vesper's face, but her expression remains resolute. “I want to see them.”

“Fuck that,” Zaire interjects, stepping between her and Alex. “There's no reason for you to subject yourself to that.”

She steps toward my brother, not backing down a single inch. “Those photos are of me, my body, my trauma. I have every right to see them.”

“I know what happened to me, Z. Nothing in those photos can hurt me more than I've already been hurt. If there's anything in them that could help us find Luca, I need to see them.”

I watch my brother's face contort with conflict—his need to protect her warring with his respect for her autonomy.

“Vesper,” I say, stepping forward. “What if we look through them first? If there's anything we think could lead us to Luca, we'll show you those specific images.”

“Would you trust us to do that for you, Oscar? If it were your body, your pain being passed around like trading cards, would you sit back?”

The question strikes me silent. She's right, and we all know it.

Talon clears his throat. "I think we need to trust Vesper to know her own limits."

"Thank you," she says, a flicker of warmth breaking through her guarded features as she looks at him before turning back to Zaire. “I survived it once. I can survive it again.”

“Bullshit,” Zaire snaps, the veins in his neck prominent as he struggles to contain his emotion. “I'm not letting you?—”

“You're not allowing me to do anything,” Vesper interrupts. “This isn't about you, Z. Or any of you,” she adds, shifting her attention slowly across the room, each look deliberate. “This isabout me reclaiming something that was taken from me. I need to do this my way.” She turns to Alex. “Show them to me.”

Without objection, Alex gestures for her to follow him into his room, and the two of them vanish through the doorway. I can only hope she emerges from his room the same way she went in.

VESPER

“So, this is your room,”I say, trailing my fingertips along the edge of his pristinely made bed. The dark blue comforter is pulled taut, not a single wrinkle in sight.

Alex closes the door behind us with a soft click that seems to echo in the pristine space. “Nobody comes in here,” he says, his voice lower than usual. “Except me.”

“And now me,” I add, turning to face him.

His lips quirk up at one corner. “And now you.”

I move toward the desk, drawn to the command center of screens and keyboards. This is clearly where Alex spends most of his time—the heart of his operation. Each monitor displays something different: security camera feeds, lines of code, news headlines, and financial charts. I would imagine it's like looking directly into his brain.

“You could run a small country from here,” I state, careful not to touch anything. “I practically do,” he replies, coming to stand behind me. Close enough that I can feel his warmth but not touching. “Information is power, Vesper. And in our world, power is survival.”

I turn my head to look at him, suddenly aware of how alone we are.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Vesper?” he asks. His eyes search mine. “The photos from your captivity—they're not easy to look at. Even for me. The videos I found...are worse."