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N O ONE MOVES.

Except me. The puzzle is closer to complete.

I pace. When we return home— if we return home, instead of into Interpol detention—I need to remember to purchase a fitness watch to determine just how much pacing I do.

Leonie hunting her ex-husband’s murderer makes everything make sense. She drew everyone’s focus to the vault not in some sort of test, or to punish her insipid family.

She thinks someone here killed my grandfather for the vault combination.

She’s told them they’re running out of time.

Not only will Leonie bury herself with her money, and possibly with whatever more valuable items wait inside—but now every single person in this castle is scheming to get into the vault.

The killer has competition. They need to move now. Leonie wants to force their hand.

I… respect it. I really do.

Leonie is playing every piece. The whole game organized into plans her opponents won’t perceive. I pause in the center of the room, facing away from the windows. I have greater dangers than the darkness to protect myself from.

Protect us from. I’m reminded of my entire crew when Deonte speaks up. “So what do we do now? You really think there is a murderer in this castle?”

Do I? His question is not inconsequential. Still, I hesitate to jump to conclusions. Lexi suspected my father of cheating on her. I mean, shit, I suspected Jackson of cheating on me . Suspicion is not reality.

Hammond, Elwood, the Carrs, Leonie’s cousin Elin… Do I think any of them is capable of murder?

“Leonie thinks so,” I concede. I force calm into my voice. “But she’s also suspicious and reclusive—”

“Uh, yeah,” Kevin interrupts. “She’s probably suspicious and reclusive because she knows someone murdered her ex-husband for the combination to a vault she also has the code to!”

I don’t reply. I don’t know what’s more disturbing—the killer under Volenvell’s roof or this world in which Kevin Webber makes valid points.

Okay, it’s the first one. Barely.

Nevertheless, Kevin’s reasoning does shed new light on Leonie’s unusual decade-long isolation. No wonder she’d locked herself up when whoever hunted Andrew Owens was still on the loose.

It leaves me no choice except to face my crew.

Eyes find me in the darkness. I read everyone’s expressions. Guarded. Calculating. Nervous. Determined? I hope.

“Ernest Hensson was already attacked. While the person who pushed him wasn’t one of Leonie’s guests, we can’t rule out the possibility someone here is…

outsourcing their murdering. This is dangerous.

I’m not going to make any of you go through with this if you don’t want to,” I say.

I linger on Deonte, who voiced the question first.

He looks to Abigail, who has closed her computer and is holding her elbows defensively, resolute. “That’s not what I’m saying,” Deonte replies.

I need confirmation from the rest of them. Inviting them into my heists is risky enough. I won’t pressure my friends into the Owens Family Murder Reunion Week.

“Speak up now if you want out,” I say.

No one does. Until—

“What if we help Leonie find the killer?” Jackson’s voice is not imploring. Only hopeful. “Maybe she’ll reward us with the gold,” he guesses.

In his question, I recognize the Jackson I love. Optimism combined with ingenuity. Hardworking honor. What if we help?

It makes my reply hurt.

“My family doesn’t do rewards,” I say. “They take. They don’t earn.”

Holding my gaze, Jackson doesn’t reply. I don’t have the strength to interrogate whether I find disappointment in his eyes.

“But if I discover who took my grandfather from me… What we did to Quinn Rhodes will be nothing,” I promise, anger surging in me. I’m here to steal my grandmother’s fortune, and I will. Now I have my eyes on a second prize, too—vengeance.

No one else speaks. In the cold room, the cushioned cage of mahogany and leather, I wait, feeling certain someone will resist. Others will join them. Someone will lead them out of the everlasting misery of me. The queen of endings. The daughter of ruin.

It’s Tom who steps forward.

His expression is understanding. The rare gift of softness on his sharp features. “We knew this was dangerous when we signed on,” he says.

His reassurance gives me permission to look past him. I do, finally daring to recognize the commitment on my crew’s faces. They’re not chess pieces, not immaculate Swiss watch components. They’re something greater.

We’re something greater.

“Fine.” My voice doesn’t waver. “If you’re staying, we’re going through with the heist.”

The heist. My mission, my escape. I haven’t flinched from the worst problems my family has thrown at me before. Instead, I’ve focused. Found my own mercilessness, found determination instead of despair. Fury instead of fear.

I need only do the same now. I need only help my crew do the same.

Tom joins them, retreating to stand beside Jackson.

“We just stay one step ahead of the killer,” I say, “and we make sure we don’t get caught. For anyone’s crimes.”