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Later that night, or early morning, I lay in Maxim’s gigantic bed beside the man who had erased all my previous experiences and replaced them with his own.

Filled with excitement, I couldn’t sleep. Even with my legs peeking out from under the blanket, I kept shifting, savoring the slow spread of warmth in my chest. Maxim’s arm lay across it, and I spent a good hour decoding his tattoos, their ink softly illuminated by the fire.

In a ghost touch, I traced the outline of the butterfly, attempting to read the story the art told: the good, the bad, and the downright ugly.

By the time my bladder threatened to explode, the clock was nearing dawn. Careful not to wake him, I slipped out of bed.

In the darkness of the bathroom, I turned my phone back on, using it as a light. Operating on autopilot, I quickly took care of things, washing my hands before checking in on the world while the house slept soundly.

Maxim’s soft breaths came from the room, pulling me back, so I hurried.

My fingers managed to bypass the security, but before I could get to the web, a message popped up on one of my work servers.

An unverified source had attached a video.

Who?

Eager to find out, I lowered the volume and played the clip.

The screen revealed nothing but pitch-black darkness, making me suspicious of its origins.

Just as I thought it was a scam, a single light flickered on, revealing a square room about the size of a small bedroom.

Concrete walls surrounded the space, and an industrial lamp hung above a wooden chair.

There, tied up with her hands behind her back, sat a woman. Her head bobbed from side to side, the soft sounds of protest filling the otherwise silent room.

It couldn’t be.

Just as I leaned in for a closer look, a man stepped out of the shadows behind her. A brutalized hand, covered in scars or burns, I couldn’t tell, appeared in the frame. He grabbed the woman’s head, forcing her to face the camera.

Alisa?

My legs threatened to give out, the confirmation too shocking, too raw, awakening every nerve ending in response.

I leaned against the counter, my grip tightening for support, my body bracing for impact.

“Ilya Aistov,” the individual called the name maliciously.

It echoed off the walls, and I hated this. Hated Ilya. Hated this guy. Hated them all. Above everything, I hated myself the most.

How did I let this happen ?

Alisa fought the effects of whatever they pumped into her system, desperately trying to regain consciousness as the man dragged a ridiculously long knife across her pale skin, demonstrating what was to come, but she was too groggy to protect herself.

My throat tightened with resentment, my hand balling into a fist as I stood there, forced to watch.

“I suggest you come out of hiding.” With a finger pointed directly at the viewer, me, he spoke one last time. “You are next.”

The light shut off, swallowing the room in darkness, Alisa’s body hidden within. A brief text filled the screen instead: Location for her. You have three days.

The video ended, and for a split second, I stared at the black screen.

My phone barely hit the ground before I bolted out of the room, heading straight for Alisa’s bedroom down the hall.

It didn’t take long before loud footsteps echoed behind me.

Maxim was hot on my heels, wearing nothing but his underwear, his messy curls a sign of sleep, yet his gun was drawn and ready.

The door to her bedroom was wide open, the bed unmade and empty.

I flicked on the light switch and searched the room.

A muffled grunt from the closet reached us, alerting whoever was inside.

“Alisa?” I turned toward the sound.

Slowly, Maxim opened the closet door and I prayed she was okay. That it was all just a dream. A result of my colorful imagination combined with a sprinkle of insomnia.

Except it wasn’t.

There, in the corner, Enzo leaned against the rack of clothes. His eyes kept rolling back, thick streams of saliva dripping from his open mouth.

Upon seeing the state of his body, Maxim pulled Enzo from the closet and carefully laid him down on his sister’s bed.

With a quick glance in my direction, he took off running, alerting the rest of the Galkins, including Mila, the doctor, whose help we desperately needed.

Not even twenty-four hours later, we were back in this hell.

“Enzo, what happened?” I tried to make sense of the situation while we waited.

With slurred attempts, he repeated her name. “Alisa. Alisa.”

Sleep threatened to pull him under, but he fought it with everything he had, resisting the drug or poison in his system.

With surprising strength, Enzo reached over and grabbed my arm.

Unable to mutter more than a few words, he resorted to communicating through actions.

His chocolate eyes, unfocused and sickly, pleaded with me. Fix this , they screamed.

His sweat-covered forehead wrinkled in worry, and I had nothing but empty reassurances to offer.

“It’s going to be okay.”

With a delicate touch, I reached over and stroked his cheek, putting on a strong front for all of us. But deep down, I didn’t believe a word I said.

It wasn’t going to be okay. Not until someone untangled the mess we were trapped in once more.

The house awoke. Loud footsteps echoed from all directions as familiar faces filled Alisa’s room, turning to me for answers. My eyes darted to Enzo’s body. Mila understood the urgency and took over with the patient.

I took a deep breath to steady my voice. “Is he going to be okay?” I begged for answers.

Andrei, always the wise one, shooed everyone out, allowing his wife to get to work.

He even stayed behind to assist her. I wasn’t ready to leave Enzo alone, but we knew there wasn’t much we could do.

We gathered in the sitting room, the bloodied couch a silent reminder of the darker side of yesterday.

Tension poisoned the air. No one spoke. When Andrei rejoined us, I knew what I had to do next, but I dreaded every second of it.

I could count all the turning points in life off the top of my head, and this one was about to be added to the list .

Relief flooded my mind as I remembered the recovery system I had in place.

It was the miracle we desperately needed.

A bot actively monitored every interaction, uploading a copy to a separate server.

As expected, the message self-destructed.

Under normal circumstances, that meant all traces vanished, as if they’d never existed.

There goes your hope of finding the sender.

I played the video as soon as my phone connected to the TV.

Dead silence consumed the room. It crawled up my spine, reminding me of when loud music once resonated through the same house. How quickly things had changed.

Maxim leaned against the wall to my right, his eyes distant. I couldn’t imagine what was going on inside his head. Though I longed to be near him, I knew the severity of the situation required space and time to process.

Nervously biting my nails, I stayed put, staring at the ceiling. The voice from the video forced me to relive that dreadful moment. I shook my head, wanting to tune the sound out, but the rational part of me insisted on listening.

Watch the faceless man and memorize every detail. Notice any clues that might help us figure out who he was.

I struggled to focus, my thoughts splintering between Enzo’s condition, Alisa’s whereabouts, the backlash this would cause, and the pain and worry it would bring.

Before I could organize my thoughts into words, a loud noise interrupted the silence.

A large crystal vase flew across the room, shattering into tiny pieces on the floor.

Glass bounced off the marble tiles, and Luka stood over the remnants of his creation, consumed by fury. The calm brother, no longer.

I blinked back the tears threatening to fall. What good would they do us or Alisa?

They thought they could mess with me. Mess with us.

If you hit me, I’ll return it a thousand times harder .

And this hit? It struck too close to home.

The worst-case scenario occurred. Ilya didn’t care about Alisa. He didn’t care enough to stick around. Yet somehow, the video found me. Someone wanted me to know.

A part of me died inside, knowing that everything I’d tried to prevent had happened. Despite my best efforts, bad things found us. It wasn’t about what we did, but what it made us. It showed how uncertain this damn world was. How fleeting safety felt.

I wouldn’t dwell on the failure. I would use my strength to my advantage.

We were racing against the clock. We had to find her before it was too late, before we lost her for good.

This was what I trained for. I thrived under pressure, grew stronger with each hit.

Whoever did this didn’t care about the List of Angels, meaning they weren’t part of it. There were only two options: The Irish or someone entirely new. As I’d predicted, new players had entered the game. Now, the stakes were higher than ever for our group. For our family.

It was time to call in the friends I’d made over the summer. Assemble and fight. Together, we’d bring her back and restore order to this world. Once and for all.

For their sister. For our sister.