Rowan
"Ashford."
The name echoed through the warehouse.
Then silence.
The kind of silence that feels alive.
Heavy.
Dangerous.
Waiting.
I couldn't breathe.
I couldn't think.
Couldn't process what Claire had just said.
My father?
Ashford?
No.
Impossible.
My father died when I was eight years old.
I remembered the funeral.
The black clothes.
The crying.
The closed casket.
The sympathy.
The grief.
All of it felt real.
So why was doubt suddenly creeping into my mind?
The answer was simple.
Because nothing about this nightmare had been normal.
Not from the beginning.
Claire looked pale.
Terrified.
More terrified than I'd ever seen her.
Even when people died.
Even when she found evidence.
Even when the conspiracy started unraveling.
This was different.
Very diffe
