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But I can't stop, don't want to stop.

And here I am again, thinking about her instead of plotting the Kean family’s demise.

My phone buzzes, a text from Lucy about meeting tomorrow to compare notes. My heart jumps like a teenager's, and I curse under my breath. I'm in too deep. I wonder if this is how Ash felt when he seemed head over heels over a girl. A girl who died in the fire and left him broken. If something happened to Lucy, would I be broken?

I shudder at the idea. I can now see why he’s adamant that I don’t get attached. But clearly, it’s too late. It happened without my even noticing.

Lucy, on the other hand, seems to have put the brakes on. Oh, she still wants to work together for her story, but she’s been keeping her distance. Once she figures out who I am, she’ll probably run for the hills. Worse, she’ll probably include it in her story. I can see the headline now.Ifrinn Sons Live! orIfrinn Sons Return. Fuck. I can’t fail my brothers by letting my feelings for Lucy get in the way.

I scan my notes again. Someone let the Keans past our defenses that night. Someone who knew the layout of our home, the guard rotations, my parents’ schedule. Who would do such a thing? Yes, there’s no honor among thieves, but still. My father had always been a pretty good judge of character, hiring only the best.

I close my eyes, trying to force the memories into focus. Was there anyone unhappy with the family at that time? I try to remember everyone who worked at the house. The guards. The house staff. But no one stands out.

But maybe it wasn’t just one person. Yes, one person let them into the house, but maybe more were involved, especially considering how quickly Hampton Kean was able to seize our territory, absorb our allies, and consolidate power. They knew exactly where to strike, which suggests inside knowledge.

But who? Loyal soldiers, family friends, staff who were practically family themselves? We trusted them all. And at least one of them sold us out.

I drag myself away from the mass of documents and grab my keys. Time to face my brothers. The drive to Phoenix’s place gives me too much time to think about Lucy, about the investigation, about how everything's getting tangled together.

By the time I arrive, I’ve done what I can to push thoughts of her into the corner of my mind. I can’t afford for them to see how fucked up I am over this woman.

"You look like shit," Blaise says, eyeing my healing bruises as I enter Phoenix’s apartment.

"Boxing will do that." I go to my brother’s fridge and grab a beer. "We need to talk about what Lucy uncovered."

Ash's jaw tightens from where he stands, his arms crossed, but he doesn’t say anything.

Blaise, on the other hand, can’t help himself. “You mean uncover more than your dick?” He smirks up at me from where he sits on the couch.

I roll my eyes and plop down in a stuffed chair. “Fuck you.”

“Any updates on who might have let the Keans into the house?” Phoenix asks, ignoring us both. He stands opposite Ash. They’re both stoic and continue to take their roles as parental figures seriously even though Blaise and I are only a few years younger.

"Yeah, did she get a name?" Blaise asks.

I shake my head. "Just rumors about someone who now works for the Keans. I also have been made aware of a cop in their pocket."

“That’s not a surprise,” Ash says. “Dad had that.”

“Yes, but apparently, there’s someone who they call a pet. He could have been a part of it from the start as well, not just someone recruited to cover things up.” I take a long swig of beer.

“Seems like we’re better off focusing on the traitor. Cops are harder to infiltrate,” Ash says.

“I’ve been racking my brain, but I can’t think of anyone who’d betray us like that,” I say.

There’s a long silence, and I imagine my brothers are trying to suss out who could have worked with the Keans to kill our parents.

“They didn’t just kill our parents, but…” Blaise glances at Ash. “Others in the house.”

Ash turns away. I wonder if he’ll ever get over the loss of his first love.

“So, who survived?” Phoenix asks.

“Who survived who knew the house and now works for Kean? That’s who we need to find,” I say.

“Your little journalist doesn’t have any names?” Blaise asks.

I ignore his calling Lucy my little journalist. “No. Not yet, anyway.”