“Let her try,” I said.

We walked out of the library separately.

The air outside had grown warmer, the sky a bright, pale blue.

I got back into my SUV, my hands steady on the wheel for the first time in days.

The drive back to Charlotte felt shorter, driven by a cold, burning purpose.

The DOJ was moving.

The high-security walls the Prescotts had built around themselves were about to face a force they couldn’t buy off.

I drove straight to the hospital, parking in the main deck this time.

I walked through the lobby, my uniform attracting the usual polite nods from visitors and staff.

I ignored them all, taking the elevator straight to the ICU.

When the doors opened, I saw two men in dark suits standing outside Emily’s room.

They weren’t hospital security.

They were Prescott private guards.

One of them stepped forward, blocking my path.

“Colonel Hart,” he said, his voice flat. “Family members only are allowed in this wing. Mrs. Prescott’s orders.”

“I am her mother,” I said, my voice dangerously low.