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“And I’m angry with myself—for not being there. For letting you all convince me to stay behind.”

“Your presence wouldn’t have changed the outcome, Vesper.”

But logic doesn’t soften the guilt. It doesn’t fill the Alex-shaped void hollowed out inside my chest.

“I miss him.” The admission tears something open in me. “I miss him so much it hurts to breathe.”

Z’s arm tightens around me, a silent acknowledgment of my pain. We sit together in the steady hush of the sea, my grief finally breaking through the numbness that’s consumed me for far too long.

“Vesper! Z!” Talon's voice cuts through the morning air, sharp with urgency. “Get back up here, now!”

Z tenses beside me, his body instantly alert. He cocks his head, listening to something in Talon's voice that I'm too worn out to catch.

“Something's wrong.” He is already rising to his feet before his declaration registers, pulling me up with surprising gentleness despite the urgency in his movements. “Stay close to me.”

“What is it?” I ask, stumbling as he guides me across the sand, his pace quickening with each step.

“Not sure, but Talon is on edge."

My heart thuds painfully against my ribs as we make our way up the rocky path to the safe house.

We reach the back door, and Z pushes it open carefully, ushering me inside with a protective hand at my lower back. The kitchen is empty.

“In here,” Talon calls from the living room, his voice tight with something I can't identify.

My feet feel leaden, each step requiring conscious effort as we move through the narrow hallway. Z looks over at Talon. “What the fuck is going on?”

Oscar paces the length of the living room. I’ve never seen him like this. Oscar—the calm one, the strategist, the steady force when the rest of us start to unravel. But now, his movements are erratic, barely restrained.

Clutched in his fingers is something small—a slip of paper, maybe, or...something else entirely.

“What's happening?”

Oscar stops abruptly, turning toward us. He holds out what I now see is a photograph, offering it to Z first. He takes it, his body going completely still as he studies the image. The blood drains from his face, and for a moment, I think he might be sick.

“Where the fuck did you find this?”

“On the doorstep. In an envelope addressed to Vesper. No postmark. Someone delivered it.”

My stomach drops. “Let me see it.”

Z hesitates, his fingers tightening on the photo. “Vesper, I don't think?—”

“Show me.” The command comes out sharper than I intend, a flash of my old self emerging through the fog. “Now.”

The twins exchange a look loaded with silent communication before Z reluctantly passes me the photograph. The moment my fingers touch the glossy paper, the world tilts sideways.

It's a cell with industrial lighting. A metal bed bolted to the floor, a toilet with no privacy screen. But it's the figure slumped against the far wall that steals my breath.

Luca.

My brother's face is bruised, one eye swollen nearly shut, but it's unmistakably him. His hair is longer than I remember, lank and unwashed, hanging around his gaunt face. But it's his eyes that gut me, the open defiance that peaks past the exhaustion.

“Luca.” His name emerges as a gasp, my fingers trembling against the photograph. The room spins around me, and I grab the back of the couch to steady myself. “He's alive.”

“Look at the corner,” Talon points out. “Bottom right.”

The date stamp in the corner shows yesterday's date.