Serena’s POV
The penthouse is a hive of controlled urgency, the midday sun piercing through the windows, casting sharp beams across the hardwood floor strewn with rural clinic maps, Elena Ruiz’s patient file, and the twins’ latest video message. The air carries a faint hint of jasmine from my perfume, a lingering echo of the closeness with Adrian during our recent warehouse victory, though today’s focus shifts to the personal vendetta driving Ruiz’s cartel. I stand by the dining table, my slate-gray jacket exchanged for a rugged khaki blazer and pants, my hair tied back in a practical braid, my fingers tracing the edge of a medical report—the botched procedure that sparked Ruiz’s grudge, a mistake I’ve carried silently for years. The foundation for Emily’s memory, now a symbol of hope wit
