“I want Lily,” I repeated. “That is my only condition.”

Grant pressed the pen to the paper, his jaw clenched so hard the muscle twitched.

He signed his name on the first page, the scratch of the ink loud in the quiet room.

He flipped to the second page and signed again.

Before he could sign the final page, Naomi’s desk phone began to ring.

It was not her cell phone this time, but the landline on the corner of the desk.

The red light on the console flashed repeatedly.

Naomi frowned and walked over to the desk, picking up the receiver.

“Naomi Pierce,” she said.

She listened for a moment, her face losing what little color it had.

She looked at me, her eyes wide with sudden alarm.

“Put it on speaker,” I said, a cold dread pooling in my stomach.

Naomi pressed the button.

A deep, cultured voice filled the room, instantly recognizable.

“Amelia,” Conrad Harrow said. “I believe you have something of mine.”

The speakerphone hissed with static, a low, electronic hum that filled the gaps between Conrad’s words.