The nursery door hung crooked on its hinges.
Elira stared at the crib as if she could will Amelia’s body back into it. The sheets were still warm. The lullaby music still hummed from the corner speaker. But her daughter was gone.
And somewhere else—so was Amira.
Two daughters. One heart.
Damien stood at the far wall, fists clenched so tight his knuckles bled. Jakari was back downstairs, triple-checking the perimeter and tracing digital footprints. Delilah sat locked in the guest room, wrapped in silence.
Elira didn’t speak.
Not until her phone buzzed.
Blocked number.
She answered.
No words came through. Just static at first. Then—laughter. Cold, calculated, hollow.
“Elira.” The voice was unmistakable. Golderdy.
She gripped the phone tighter. “If you touch either of them—”
“Oh,
