It was my mother, her face pale, her hands clasped tightly in front of her chest.

“Clara,” she whispered.

“Where are the boys?” I demanded.

She didn’t answer. She looked toward the stairs.

From the top of the staircase, a cold, familiar voice drifted down.

“They are upstairs, Clara,” Vivian said.

I looked up.

Vivian stood on the landing, wearing a pristine beige trench coat that didn’t have a single drop of rain on it.

She was holding a thick manila folder in one hand.

In the other hand, she held her phone.

The screen of her phone was lit up, showing an incoming call.

“You are too late,” Vivian said, a thin, sharp smile spreading across her face.

“What have you done, Mother?” Garrett demanded, stepping into the hallway.

Vivian’s eyes narrowed as she looked at her son.

“I saved this family,” Vivian said. “Which is more than I can say for you.”

The phone in her hand began to vibrate.

She swiped the screen and put it to her ear.

“Is it done?” Vivian asked the caller.

She listened for a moment, her eyes locked onto mine.