“I’ve been ready for a year,” I said.

We drove through the iron gates of St. Anselm’s, leaving the dark silhouette of the chapel behind us.

My phone buzzed again in my lap.

It was an email from the Whitmore Group’s media relations department.

An emergency press conference was scheduled for eight o’clock the next morning at the Manhattan headquarters.

I deleted the notification.

I didn’t need their updates anymore.

We crossed the bridge toward the highway, the lights of the city blinking through the fog.

By the time we hit the Connecticut state line, Lily was sleeping soundly.

I watched the red taillights of the cars ahead of us, my mind repeating the terms of the agreement.

*Sole legal guardian.*

*Primary beneficiary.*

Adrian had tried to make us invisible.

He had tried to tell the world that his daughter did not exist.

Tomorrow, he would have to watch from a holding cell as we took his place.

I leaned my head against the cold glass of the window, watching the rain wash over the highway.

We arrived in Manhattan just after midnight.