“You always did have your mother’s curiosity, Lena,” Arthur said, his voice coming through the static.

“Where are you?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

“Close enough to know that Roman Blackwell is in no position to protect you tonight,” he said.

A cold chill ran down my spine.

“Leave him out of this,” I said.

“It was never about him,” my father replied. “Put the ledger down, pack your things, and wait by the eastern gate.”

“No,” I said.

“He is dying, Lena, and the Blackwell empire dies with him. Do not go down with a sinking ship.”

The line went dead with a sharp, heavy click.

I stood frozen, the receiver still pressed to my ear, listening to the flat dial tone.

Slowly, I placed it back on its cradle.

Mara was watching me from the bedside, her hands trembling as she squeezed water from a white cloth.

“What did he say?” she asked.

“He knows we are here,” I said. “And he knows Roman is sick.”

On the sofa, Roman let out a low, ragged groan.