I tapped the screen.

There was no text, just an image attachment.

I opened it.

It was a photograph of the diner on Damon Avenue.

The photo had been taken from across the street.

Beneath the image, a text appeared.

*A lovely place for breakfast.*

My breath caught in my throat.

The phone rang immediately.

The screen showed the unknown number.

I hesitated, my finger trembling over the green button.

I swiped it and put the phone to my ear.

“Who is this?” I demanded.

A woman’s voice, cold and perfectly modulated, came through the line.

“You’ve kept them hidden for a long time, Emma,” Helena Harrington said.

“But they are Harringtons.”

“And Harringtons come home.”

“They are with me, Helena,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

“For now,” she replied.

The line went dead.

I stood in the dark hallway, the cold glass of the phone pressed against my cheek.

Inside the bedroom, Leo rolled over in his sleep, his small hand draping over the edge of the mattress.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.