“Zane,” Cort whispers in horror, voice carrying. My son’s head whips up, eyes connecting with mine.

“Mitchell was obsessed with Zane’s conception,” I muse, remembering the meeting Faith, Wil, and I had with Mitchell at Meyers Manor, back when we were sixteen. “Mitchell was old enough to remember what Nathaniel, Raymond, Celeste, and you weren’t. Mitchell felt he was righting a wrong. When Faith and I had a son, the legacy would be returned to a Hunter.”

“Fredrick treated Nathaniel and his twins with respect he didn’t afford to his own children, Mitchell and me. Self-loathing on a subconscious level, because we were the servants. Raymond’s children were important, more so than mine.” Gwen points down at the book, proving how Fredrick cared naught to take care of his grandchildren. “Celeste was humored, treated as the princess of the manor, while I was used and abused by the founders, allowing her to procreate with whomever she chose, as long as she did her duty.”

“So in six to eight weeks,” Cort whispers, eyes glued to the page. “We’ll know. Don’t think me stupid– I know you distracted me from asking about my father.”

“Your father doesn’t know you exist, Cort.” Gwen reaches forward to pat Cort’s hand. “He retired from his service shortly after you were conceived, due to the heir taking over as elder. A changing of the guard, so to speak. You were lucky, since others who ascended retired their father’s enforcers via death, with service, duty, and loyalty being for life. Since you weren’t delivered to him upon your birth, he no doubt assumed the bedsport didn’t take.”

“You guys are assholes!” Cort snarls, stalking off toward our children.

“That would be why we are here,” Gwen murmurs softly, watching him go. “No more secrets and lies.”

“Just tell–” The Whittenhowers converge en masse, coming from both directions down the hallway. This is their house, their ballroom, where Gwen is hosting her diabolical party. “This conversation isn’t over.”

A palm gently squeezes the nape of my neck in a fatherly gesture. With a pat to my back, Daniel sets me on my way, allowing him to take charge of his family. “I’m not taking the DNA test, Gwendolyn,” he warns as I step away.

“Understood.”

Flipping around in shock, I walk backward so I can watch how Gwen and Daniel interact, never seeing them in the same space before. Both polite and respectful, animosity is pouring off Daniel, all of it directed at Gwen.

“My wife, children, and grandchildren may take the test.” Daniel steps up to the table, with an army of Whittenhowers at his back. “No one will be compared to me. My lineage is not up for debate.”

“But what if your children come back as only half-siblings?”

Standing in the middle of the ballroom, I can’t step away until I get a clue on what Daniel is so distressed over.

“Then I will fall to my knees to pray my gratitude to God Himself for granting me the only wish I’ve ever had.” Perfect white teeth are revealed, Daniel’s smile angelic. “Just list Jackson and me as the father for Grant, Katherine, and Adelaide, because the Whittenhower is not in question… that’s all you’re after, correct? The lineage?”

“If any of them come back as half-siblings–”

“Then, and only then, will I take the test,” Daniel orders. “Now, I will be the one who lists everyone’s lineage, they may take their seats.” Before Gwen can protest, Priscilla is herding their family to the largest section of seats, with Martha and Kristal Harris following, leaving Daniel and Albert behind.

My mother is standing behind them, and Wil kindly takes charge by administering her DNA test while Daniel rattles off dozens upon dozens of names, even filling in Albert’s family tree.

As soon as my mother is tested, awaiting her turn to speak with Gwen, Wil takes a caddy over to the Whittenhowers to begin administering their tests, already filled in labels trailing from his back pocket.

My seat is easy enough to locate, directly between Zane and Cortez, with Ava sitting on the other side of Zane. With no seats to call their own, the twins are chasing each other around the ballroom, easily hunting down Niel for attention. There’s an empty seat on each end of our row, one obviously belonging to my mother.

I’m confused by the seating configuration. Knowing Faith is detail-oriented, the unevenness must be driving her nuts. Our row isn’t the same length as the row behind us, which has spaces made by missing chairs.

The Whittenhowers are lined up almost the length of one wall, with Daniel acting as the satellite with everyone to the right or left of him, with three seats separated by a missing chair for Albert, Martha, and Kristal.

With a nudge to his side, I draw Cort’s attention from what’s happening at the entrance. “Who’s sitting next to you?”

“Gwen,” is muttered absentmindedly, since Cort’s too immersed with the gossip-worthy happenings to engage me.

“Primogeniture,” Zane answers me. “There are no more elders and heirs. No more eight founding lines. Each section is connected by the paternal line. Unless they are married into the family, some mothers won’t be seated with their children.”

“You helped set this up?” More interested in watching my son, I could care less what’s happening at the table. “I’m impressed.”

“I was the master of the label maker,” Zane murmurs wryly, making sure his voice doesn’t carry past our row. “Dad–”

Zane stumbles, so I make sure he knows there’s no harm, no foul. “Wil? He is your dad too– it’s okay, son.”

“Okay, good.” Deep breath. “Dad placed the chairs where Mom ordered him, and Tori stuck the stickers. Group effort.”

“While your grandmother played with her grimoire,” Cort mutters sarcastically, evidentially paying attention to us too. Zane and I can’t help but laugh, because that was classic Cort’s wittiness.

“What?” Either Ava doesn’t get it, or she didn’t hear.

“Cort thinks my grandmother is a witch.” Zane is in the best mood, and it’s a joy to see.

“Thinks the same thing about your other grandmother too,” my mother volleys back, proving our love of dark humor is a genetic trait. Trying to be invisible, my mother sits in her seat, all prim and proper and absorbing every detail.

“Hi, fam!” Aaron drops into the seat directly behind me, with Kayla behind Zane. There’s a missing chair behind Ava, which means Roarke sits behind my mother’s seat as the lone Walden. “Our section would be more impressive if Pearl, Rick, Divina, and Dad were with us.”

“Why is Gwen seated with us?” Roarke asks, just as the Jessups take the third row in our section. We all turn around, smiling brightly at the older couple who has been taking care of us since birth.

“Zane,” I decide introductions are in order. “This is George and Betsy, the keepers of Shadow Haven.” Like all grandparent types, Betsy immediately kisses Zane on the forehead, with George squeezing his shoulder. “Their daughter, Stephanie.”

Stephanie waves, then knocks Cortez upside the head on her way to their row of seats. “She’s older than us–”

“Who you calling old?” Stephanie ribs Cort back. “Your ex-wifey and I are still best friends, so watch it.”

Betsy is about to chastise her daughter and Cort, but she’s waylaid by a pair of toddlers tackling her thighs from behind. “Did you bring cookies, Grammy Jessup?” Azrael turns on the charm.

“Grandma Gwen makes the best cookies,” Zane murmurs in that dreamy voice that reminds me so much of Cort.

All my kids are Cookie Monsters, Cort too.

“Hi, I’m Aubrianna.” The young woman steps out from behind her grandmother to wave at Zane. “Hey, Ava. How ya doing, girlfriend? Long time no see.”

Ava inherited that possessive streak Cort and I possess. She’s envious of the older, worldly teenager. “Can’t wait to come home,” is all she’s got for the girl. “I thought you wanted us to call you Jesse after your last name, ‘cuz you hate your long-ass name.”

“We miss you too.” Aubrianna ignores the implications of what Ava said, knowing it was based on jealousy and possessiveness over Zane. There’s a lifetime of difference between the ages of fourteen and nineteen.

“When we come home, we’re getting puppies!” Azrael shouts the announcement to the entire ballroom, causing rumbles of laughter to flow in every direction. The ballroom is slowly filling, and she has a captive audience.

“Horses too!” Marcus Zane claims his big sister’s lap, wanting in on the conversation but doesn’t want to talk.

“Hey, Luc!” Aubrianna calls across the ballroom, to where her renegade brother is chatting with Niel. The seventeen-year-old is the outdoorsy type, rather working with his hands than in a classroom. “Shadow Haven is getting horses!”

“Kill me,” passes my lips, causing Cortez to crack the fuck up.

“It’s been announced during a MdJ meeting.” Cort teases me relentlessly. “It’s set in stone now. We’re getting horses.”

“And I’ll be dragging my feet on getting our house back.”

Lucian jogs across the ballroom, noticing how his family is taking their seats. “I call dibs on working with the horses,” he announces before his ass lands in his chair.

Face crimson, Ava pretends she’s sinking into her seat, and I have no idea why she’s reacting like that. Zane’s outright laughing at her. “That’s gonna get old fast.” Ava mumbles out the corner of her mouth at Zane, only managing to make him laugh harder.

“All right!” Roarke calls out to anyone who will answer from his seat set apart from the rest of us. “Why is Gwen’s chair in our section, and who the hell does that singular seat belong to over there, a space from Aaron?”

Two things happen at once. Four of the five seats in the section next to us fill with asses. Marcus is inches away from my mother, with a seat left empty. Beyond that seat, Spyder, Dexter, and Monica sit down. At the same time, Julio is scooching past Gwen’s empty seat.

“Ignore us, we want to know too.” Marcus eyes our section with baffling confusion. “I’m not feeling the love here–” he gestures to how small his section is. “And we all know I don’t have compensation issues.”

“Mine,” Julio answers Roarke. “And before you ask the next question, I have no fucking clue why.” Seated near Aaron, Julio gazes with longing as his husband takes a DNA test at the front table.

“I booked my parents an anniversary cruise months ago. Gwen told me to not bug them, let them have their second honeymoon. Then she plants my ass over here for no good reason, splitting me from my husband.”

We all watch as Cory walks toward the long row of Whittenhowers lining an entire wall. He shakes Priscilla Whittenhower’s hand, and we all wait with bated breath to see if he’ll sit in the empty seat between Priscilla and Grant. But nope, he sits at the end of the row, closest to the Green section.

“The fuck?” Cort voices what we’re all thinking.

“The hair.” Zane proves he knows everything, since he helped set up this insanity. “Our row is a rainbow from Hunter to Holden. The Meyers and Spencer lines are no more, with Holden quickly to follow. They died out with no sons of sons to continue the bloodline.”

“Ah, I see.” Marcus is quicker at this than we are, and he’s new to how MdJ operates.

“The Atwater patriarch is not in attendance– out of respect for Priscilla, they are seated with the Whittenhowers. The DNA test will say for sure, but it’s assumed Cory is an Atwater.”

“Great,” Marcus mutters sarcastically. “No pressure over here. Last male Zeitler with a daughter.”

Dexter’s devious laughter echoes around the ballroom, heavy palm slapping his cousin on the back. “It’s all up to you– better not crawl out of bed until the deed is done.”

“Ha-ha.” Marcus is not amused.

“We’re off the hook!” Monica high-fives Spyder, thrilled their future kids won’t have to carry the weight of an entire legacy.

I don’t bother to tell anyone how I’m legally Marc’s son, so therefore their money is secure. But legalities aren’t by Gwen’s patriarchal standards.

“Why is Regina seated with them?” Cort asks as the woman in question makes her way from the table to her seat between Marcus and Spyder. “They’re not married yet. It would make more sense for her to sit with her kids.”

“I was ordered to sit here.” Regina’s face twists into revulsion as she comes to a stop before us. “That woman makes my skin crawl.” Eyes on Zane, she flushes with mortification. “Shit! I’m sorry.”

“No offense taken.” Zane is having one helluva time, chuckling underneath his breath. I thought for sure his head would explode by now, but he’s holding an emotional shield in his lap– a napping Marcus Zane. “Cort called my grandmother a witch earlier.”

Regina and Cort share a private look, which Marcus intercepts.

“I was ordered to sit here, something about how the Regals were born to serve the Zeitlers, but the previous generation were greedy assholes, which is why we only have five seats.”

“Same thing that happened to the Spencer, Meyers, Fontaine, and Holden lines.” Zane definitely inherited the history keeper trait from his grandmother. “Greed, wishing to keep those born to serve in their place, refusing to bring in new blood. The Zeitler line is close to extinction thanks to Marcus and Dexter’s mother and father deciding to marry a pair of Hayes siblings and retire the Regals from service. When Spyder marries, her children will belong to another line, killing the bloodline unless Marcus has a son.”

“That’s pretty much word for word what your grandmother said to me.” Regina relaxes into her seat. “I was also told to stop taking birth control, since my eggs are drying up by the day. The woman had the audacity to hand me the business card to a top fertility specialist.”

“No. Pressure. Here.” Marcus sinks deeper into his seat. “Had the same fucking conversation with the woman. Took everything in me not to strangle her for touching Jamie.”

Zane barks a laugh, acting as if he’s watching the best comedy of errors unfold before him. “Let’s not remove Uncle Pretty Boy from our lives.”

My son’s comment has my eyes seeking out the man in question, our gazes locking immediately. Heat roils through my veins, and a second later my gaze is landing on Dalton, while he sits between Olivia and an empty seat meant for Wil, over in the newly ascended Wilson section, with Devlin as their patriarch.

Gwen’s in charge when it comes to her grimoire of primogeniture, slaughtering Ma?tre du Jeu as we know it, lowering those in charge while raising those who used to serve. Faith’s probably biting her tongue bloody with all this ‘women not heading a bloodline’ nonsense, like it’s the middle ages.

Thankfully none of this is legal, all genealogical.

Whitt, Dalton, and I connect from different walls in the ballroom, remembering the lust we shared earlier tonight. Blushing brightly, there’s no way my family around me isn’t feeling the heat wafting from my skin.

A throat clears next to me, and I freeze, fearing Cortez is angry or jealous. Fingertips gouge into my cheeks, and a second later, hungry lips descend. “I’m fucking you into next week when we finally get the hell out of here,” is breathed directly into my mouth.

“Oh, my God!” Ava shouts in excitement, then she’s hopping up to high-five Spyder. “It’s Flowers in the Attic!”

“What?” Eyes flicking everywhere, I haven’t a clue what the hell my daughter is talking about.

In on the joke, Cortez joins Ava and Spyder in naughty laughter, while Monica and Dexter cover their faces with upraised palms, trying not to join in too loudly.

“I–” Gazing around, my eyes light on what’s happening at the front table. “Oh, wow. Older, taller versions of Toby. I mean, I thought Daniel, Grant, and Whitt were clones, but this is–”

“Something else,” Julio finishes for me, leaning forward to get a better look.

The older gentleman must be Pastor Kline– the tallest man in this ballroom, broad in stature but also an innate elegance in his movement. It’s shocking to notice how they all have hair close in color to mine. The eldest son stands shoulder-to-shoulder with his father, but he’s slighter in width and breadth. Mrs. Kline is the classic pastor’s wife. The pastor’s daughter and her daughter, they look as if Barbie was modeled after them. Then there is Toby, a smaller, younger version of their angelic beauty.

With the Spencer bloodline eradicated, Boyd is sitting in the center of the second largest line. With one declaration from Gwen, the Simpsons went from our smallest bloodline to one of our largest. With Tobias being Amelia Simpson’s son– and Gwen is all about paternal bloodlines –the Klines were invited to join them for the party.

“Every Whittenhower just dimmed in beauty.” Roarke teases my mother, causing her to trail rare tinkling laughter. “Somebody clue me in to the Flowers in the Attic reference, I’m lost.”

“The Klines are what happens when you don’t have founders to pick your baby mommas.” Zane has Dexter nearly swallowing his own tongue, as the man tries not to laugh about his favorite person.

“A pair of older teens and their twin brother and sister lose their dad in a car accident.” Ava begins, telling our section, Marc’s section, and part of the Green section the tale. “Their mother had no money or skills, so she’s forced to return to her gothic childhood manse.”

“But the grandfather doesn’t realize the grandchildren exist,” Cortez picks up. “The grandmother and mother devised a plan. The children are led up to the attic in hiding, so their mother can get back into the grandfather’s good graces.”

“To get back in the will for her inheritance,” Ava continues. “Years go by, the mother hardly visits, with the grandmother treating them abhorrently. Come to find out, their mother and father were uncle and niece, and that is why they were both disinherited.”

“The grandfather is highly religious,” Spyder pipes in, no doubt watching the movie with them. “So he doesn’t know he has grandchildren from incest. The mother goes to parties, tries to catch a man to make her father proud, all the while the grandmother is slowly poisoning the children.”

“What you fear, you create. Christopher and Cathy end up being intimate out of a need for comfort, after young Cory passes away from slowly digesting rat poison.” Cort’s hand slips into mine, fingers clutching tightly. “They escape, but those stories belong to other books… other movies.”

“Ah!” Roarke sits back in his seat. “Cort and his great love of book adaptations. Double points for references to incest.”

Cort whips around with murder in his eyes, prepared to jump Roarke, even knowing he can’t win.

“Lisa and Patrick are Christopher and Cathy, just not the same.” Zane shocks me with his knowledge, but no doubt he’s protecting Cort from committing suicide by Roarke . “They met, then fell in love. Lisa brought Patrick home to meet Pastor Kline and Carol, only to discover Patrick is her long-lost half-brother.”

“You’re shitting me?” comes from Caleb, feet landing on the floor as he sits up right across from us. “Keep going. I missed out on a lot being gone for so long.”

“More!” Wide-eyed from forbidden romance, Bianca is physically vibrating next to Caleb. “It’s just so beautiful how they’re here together.”

“Patrick goes off to medical school.” It’s Dexter who knows these intimate details. “Lisa discovers she’s pregnant with a son–”

“Son?” Julio leans forward, arms resting on the back of Cort’s chair. All eyes seek out the young woman laughing with Toby. “Um, she looks like a daughter to me.”

“ Son ,” Dexter stresses. “After a decade of angst, they decide they didn’t give a shit anymore, which is how Valentina came into being… at the same time, Toby’s wicked story overlaps, but that’s for another time.”

Snapping out of our reverie, we gaze around, noticing all the seats are filled but one, with the exception of Gwen and Wil still at the table. Our daughter is running from section to section, accepting accolades on how cute she is. The more cheek pinches she receives, the more she hams it up. Azrael’s partner in crime is taking a nap on Zane, not a social animal by any stretch of the imagination.

“What’s the hold up?” Aaron’s getting antsy, large feet accidentally kicking the back of my seat. All around us comes rumbles of confusion in answer to his question.

“Mommy!” flows as shrill as a siren, echoing around the ballroom, as Azrael makes a break for the entrance. “Mommy’s here!”

Keyed in to his twin, Marcus Zane jerks upright, notices Azrael is being picked up by their mommy, then goes right back to sleep.

From the entrance, with a wiggling, kissing Azrael in her arms, Katya holds my gaze in outright defiance. Those green eyes glow, and I swear her crimson hair is floating around her head from the waves of rage she’s emanating. She’s never looked more powerful.

I told Katya not to come for her own benefit, not just because I fear her hearing my dirtiest secrets. But I had no right to do so when she is the mother of my children, having just as much a right to be here as most of us.

We could hear a pin drop in the ballroom as Katya steps up to the table, greeting Gwen and Wil in a clear voice. “Ms. Meyers. Levi.”

“Welcome, Katya.” Seated behind Gwen, I can’t see her face, but it’s obvious she’s looking Katya directly in the eyes.

Faith steps from her seat, where the Simpson line is butted up near the table, and I worry she thinks Katya a threat to her mother.

But Katya doesn’t have a violent expression on her face– resolute and determined.

Faith whispers something to Katya, earning a head nod in reply.

“Please begin with your name, then with your maternal line.” Gwen looks down, fingernails prying up those labels, so she can follow along with whatever Katya says.

“Katya Atwater,” drops like a bomb in the center of Whittenhower Estates majestic ballroom, all of us blowing back into our seats, with the exception of a few– my son and daughter.

“Daughter to Clara Walden.” This admission has me flipping around to glare at my senior enforcer. Roarke still wears that ‘I want to snap your neck’ expression, but he flashes me a sympathetic smile.

“Clara Walden, eldest sister to Lara and Roarke Walden, whom are my aunt and uncle respectively. Lara Walden, deceased widow to Thomas Simpson, adoptive mother to Fate and Faith Simpson, whom are legally my cousins. Stepmother to Boyd Spencer, whom is my cousin by marriage, as is his son, Torian.”

“Thank you, Katya– paternal line.” Gwen prompts, shoulder moving as her finger meticulously scans the page in front of her.

“Daughter to Maximillian Atwater–” someone hissing ‘Jesus Christ!’ has Katya pausing. “Maximillian Atwater, elder brother to Priscilla Atwater, my aunt. Priscilla Atwater, wife to Daniel Whittenhower the first. I am the cousin to Grant, Katherine, and Adelaide Whittenhower, as well as to their children.”

“Any siblings?” Gwen doesn’t even look up from the page, and Katya doesn’t look away from my gaze– the woman hasn’t blinked since she stepped foot into the ballroom.

“Clarissa Atwater– four years my senior,” Katya professes without a shred of emotion, because all that rage is tunneling toward me.

Rapidly scrolling through the memories being integrated provided me, I cannot for the life of me figure out why Katya is looking at me in such a manner.

“Marriage. Children.” Gwen’s innocent words have Katya wincing, no longer able to look me in the eyes.

“Legal wife to Ezra Holden-Zeitler, bloodline Hunter. We share Ava and Marcus Zane. With Cortez Hunter, we have a daughter, Azrael. Through marriage, I am the stepmother to Zane, as well as legally his cousin through Lara’s adoption of his mother, Faith.”

“Very good, Katya. Very good.” Gwen snaps her grimoire shut with a heavy clap, causing us all to jump in surprise. “Dominion welcomes you home.”

Head held high, shoulders back, toddler riding her hip, Katya walks across the ballroom, completely dismissing me as her husband and a fellow human being, then takes her place between Priscilla and Grant.

Azrael immediately crawls from her mommy’s lap, not caring that she accidentally knees Grant in the nuts, then pesters Niel for attention. My three-year-old daughter is smarter than me, knowing on a fundamental level that Niel is her family.

“Perfect.” Gwen stands, then turns to Wil. “The sample we took from Katya earlier, don’t forget to cross-reference it with Cory Fitzpatrick. Max knew his duty, and Clara only gave him daughters. None of us are saints.”

Wincing for Katya, because she has to listen to Gwen speak of her father’s possible infidelity, but also the only gave him daughters comment, as if Katya is somehow lessor. As if Clara failed as a wife and woman for not birthing a son, when it was Max’s seed that determined the gender.

To borrow a phrase from Ava, Gwen’s internalized misogyny is showing. Every single woman in this ballroom should be enraged right now.

“Yes, ma’am.” After depositing the samples in a safe near the table, Wil clasps it shut with a sound of finality.

Preening from finally getting to do her devil’s work, Gwen glides across the ballroom to take her seat on the other side of Cortez. She flashes us a sympathetic smile, as if to say, “Having secrets leveled against you sucks, doesn’t it?” or I could just be projecting my guilt.

Wil takes a seat in between Olivia and Dalton, at the same time Faith steps into the center of the room.

“The answer to our problem lies within that safe.” Voice projecting to ring clearly, Faith points near the table. “The answer runs in our veins. It may take a few months, where we will have to ask some of you to take another test and post the results on Ancestry.com, but we will find the enemy from within.”

“Why would our attackers be on that site?” Marcus asks the question we’re all thinking.

“Divina has a profile, which she made out of curiosity because her father was adopted. She found a few potential relatives.” My mother is the one to clear up the confusion. “We don’t know if they are connected via Hastings or Holden. Let’s face facts. Byron Holden wasn’t above creating bastards, whether the woman wanted to birth the child or not. Raymond, me, and Ezra are proof of that fact. That bastard would legally be awarded a third of our legacy.”

“Learning you’ve been ripped out of your family tree and lied to by those closest to you–” Whitt glares at Gwen. Mother and son are oil and water. “That tends to motivate a person.”

“I realize the concept is a foreign one to all of you.” Katya glares around the room, all of us her target. “Money isn’t everyone’s driving force. Infidelity. Illegitimacy. Betrayals. Revenge. Vengeance. Justice. It’s no wonder someone finally targeted you all after how you’ve lived your lives for generations.”

“Touché, Katya.” Faith nods in Kat’s direction, like she just gave her a point.

“Generations’ worth of rapes, molestations, extortion, and murders. Secrets, lies, and betrayals.” Katya’s on a roll. “The real question to ask is who haven’t you gravely wounded. I’m sure there’s an adult child, whose parent was slaughtered, looking for vengeance.”

“This is too personal.” The alpha male bursts from Caleb, but at least he doesn’t get to his feet to completely overshadow Faith. “It’s too personal. Some of the attacks aren’t common knowledge within this room– things said in confidence were exploited. That’s not some random match on a website.”

Niel bursts from his seat, like a ginger-haired Incredible Hulk, passing a stunned Azrael off to Katya like a football. After half a dozen paces, the boy is bent over at the waist, retching into a potted plant.

In a chain reaction, Whitney is the next to go green around the gills, but she manages to flee the ballroom entirely. Which is a good thing, since Cortez is prone to throw up just because someone else is, something all four of our children inherited. If one starts, this ballroom will be painted in vomit speckled with Christmas indulgent treats.

There are a few minutes of utter chaos, as Katie runs after her daughter, Regina looks on in confusion, with a tear-stained Ava cleaning Niel’s face with a hanky. Cort’s fingers slip into mine, then squeeze firmly, silently asking me to let it go, something Spyder is also doing with Regina.

“Someone close to you, who may or may not be in this very room, is doing this to all of us.” Caleb’s calm voice hits like shrapnel. “Perhaps there are several someones. Dominion is proficient in growing greed– so we already know the motive. They have less wealth than you do, most likely a bastard who thinks they deserve their legacy. Maybe they are seeking vengeance. Maybe it’s several bastards doing this for different reasons who have banded together.”

“There are many bloodlines weaving us all into one family.” Faith picks up where Caleb left off, and I realize they aren’t battling each other, rather working in conjunction.

“We are the heartbeat running through Dominion– to attack one is to attack all. For generations we’ve been pitted against one another, but that ends tonight. To harm your neighbor is to harm yourself. If you can think of anyone we missed, anything that can help us find the culprit, you know who to contact.”