The warehouse still smelled like rust and betrayal.
Silas didn’t move for a long time after Joe disappeared.
The night wind pushed through the broken side panels, carrying the distant cry of gulls and the low churn of water against dock pylons.
In his palm—
The Sterling crest.
Cold.
Undeniable.
His thumb brushed over the engraved lion.
Arthur Sterling’s empire.
Ivy Sterling’s birthright.
Joe’s secret.
His jaw flexed.
“Princess,” he muttered darkly, “you should’ve stayed in your tower.”
He turned toward the exit—
And stopped.
A sound.
Faint.
Behind the stacks of shipping crates near the back wall.
A shuffle.
Too controlled to be random.
Silas’s eyes sharpened.
“You’re still here,” he said softly.
Silence.
Then—
A crate shifted.
He moved without hesitation.
Fast.
C
