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The bedroom door slams shut behind her. I hear the lock click into place.
I stand frozen in the middle of the living room, the muted TV still showing images of the missing cellist. The sound of Evelyn's muffled sobs filters through the door, each one like a knife twisting in my gut.
I grab my phone from the coffee table and dial Damiano. He answers on the second ring.
"What is it, Rivera?"
"We have another problem." I keep my voice low, glancing at the bedroom door. "Michael Chen, a cellist. Works with Evelyn. He's missing too."
"Fuck." Damiano's voice is tight. "When?"
"Just hit the news. Ivan's not waiting for the deadline. He's collecting everyone she cares about."
I pace across the living room, tension coiling through my body like a spring ready to snap.
"We need to move faster," I say. "We still have two days left on his ultimatum, but Ivan's unpredictable. Who knows what he'll do next?"
"He's sending a message," Damiano says. "Making it personal."
"It's already fucking personal." I grip the phone tighter. "He's going to hurt them to get to her."
"How's she taking it?" Damiano asks.
I glance at the bedroom door, remembering the hatred in Evelyn's eyes. "How do you think?"
"Keep her there, Noah. No matter what. If she tries to go to Ivan?—"
"She won't." I cut him off, though I'm not as confident as I sound. "I won't let her."
"Good. I'll call when we have something solid. Be ready to move."
The line goes dead. I stare at the phone, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on me. In the bedroom Evelyn's sobs have quietened, which somehow feels worse.
I walk to the door, pressing my palm against it.
"Evelyn," I call softly. "I just spoke to Damiano. They might have a lead on Jessica."
Silence.
"I know you hate me right now. You have every right to." I rest my forehead against the door. "But I promise you, we're going to get them back."
More silence.
"I didn't want this war. But I'm going to end it." I close my eyes. "And I'm going to keep you safe while I do it."
I wait at the door, listening for any response from Evelyn. The silence stretches between us like a living thing, heavy with accusation.
"Evelyn," I try again. "Say something."
The lock clicks and the door swings open. Her eyes are red-rimmed, her face flushed with anger and tears.
"You want me to say something?" Her voice is menacingly quiet. "Fine. This is all your fault. You started this war, Noah. Not Ivan. You!"
I clench my jaw, fighting to keep my voice level. "I didn't start anything. Ivan was already coming for you."
"You killed his men!" She's shouting now, all composure gone. "You took what he wanted! And now innocent people are paying for your fucking ego!"
"It wasn't about my ego?—"