Sebastian Cross was nothing like his sister.
Where Evelyn had been all sharp edges and controlled ferocity, the man who walked into the safe house living room forty minutes later was quiet, worn, and carrying the specific exhaustion of someone who had spent six years being somebody else. He was in his mid-thirties, broad-shouldered, with dark eyes that held the permanently cautious quality of a man who had learned that rooms were dangerous before he had learned to trust them.
He sat across from us at the reinforced steel table, the same table where Lucian and I had built the trap that had ended Evelyn's war and he held a plain manila envelope in both hands with the care of someone transporting something irreplaceable.
Trisha was upstairs with Ava and Kelly, who had been cleared of Synd
