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“We’renot.” I arch a brow. “You’re dismissed.”

Kane’s eyes flash. He lingers—one heartbeat too long—then turns and slams the metal door so hard the sound reverberates through the room.

I shoot a look at Hunter, because I can’t say anything in front of Miles. Hunter nods. He gets my message.

Kane won’t like being kept in the dark. He won’t like it at all. Which means we’ll need to be careful.

He’s a loose cannon.

I turn back to Miles. “Continue.”

He nods. “I’ll give you the basics. She’s an excellent student. 3.9 GPA. Spends most of her time studying.”

Hunter lets out a short breath, almost a laugh. “She sounds like a lot of fun, Damian.”

“She does make an exception for church activities,” Miles says. “She goes to Victory Hill every Sunday. And their college group on Wednesdays.”

Hunter smirks. “Even better.”

“Hush,” I say, though a smile tugs at my lips.

Nothing is surprising about this information. In fact, I ought to find it all painfully dull. The gray-eyed doll perfectly matches her dollhouse.

But it’s precisely that predictability, for some odd reason, that delights me.

She’s a good girl. A rule follower. And based on the brazen self-righteousness she’s shown me, I’ll bet she follows the rules, not out of fear, but out of certainty. She’s never had to question the foundation beneath her feet, because it’s never cracked. My guess is she’s lived a small but charmed life.

I’ll have to use the stick with her first. Scare her into submission. Then I’ll use the carrot. I’ll hold her and kiss her and shower her with gifts—make her crave her captor’s love.

When the Sacred Light takes her away, she’ll probably still think of me for years to come. Long after I’ve tired of her.

I don’t know why the thought of it is exhilarating. It ought to be tedious.

“She’s also an excellent piano player,” Miles says. “She’s participated in national competitions, and she was a part of the St. James Philharmonic when she was only fifteen.”

A tingle spreads over my skin. The little girl on the island had played the piano, too. I can still see her tiny hands moving over the keys. For a moment, Ava’s face fuses with that memory, her gray eyes and delicate features replacing the ghost of the past. My chest tightens.

“Her mom died when she was two,” Miles says. “Suicide.”

A jolt of shock runs through me. I never would have guessed that. She looks like she grew up with two parents and a golden retriever.

It’s good that she didn’t. It means she’s more vulnerable.

“Her dad is interesting,” Miles says, snapping me out of my daze.

Hunter leans forward, his sharp eyes narrowing. “What about him?”

Miles opens the folder on the desk, flipping through the pages. “He’s a pastor in a small congregation in a town called Ash Hollow, Nebraska. About three hundred members, give or take.”

Hunter grunts. “What’s the interesting part?”

“It’s his travel schedule,” Miles says, looking up at us. “He’s gone. A lot. The explanation to his church is that he’s involved in broader church leadership, speaking in congregations around the world. But I couldn’t find any evidence of it.”

Hunter raises a brow. “No itineraries? No speaking engagements?”

“Nothing,” Miles says firmly. “No records at all. Anywhere.”

A slow smile spreads across my face. “Maybe he has a second family. Some secret life tucked away in another state—or another country. What do you think, Hunter?”