The white screen cast a cold, pale glare over her face, turning her skin a ghostly shade of gray.

She tapped the keys, the plastic clacking loudly in the dead silence.

“My bypass codes aren’t working,” she said.

“Is it Salvatore?” I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I looked down at Noah, who stirred slightly but didn’t wake.

“No,” Isabella said, staring at a flashing red icon in the corner of the screen. “This isn’t my father-in-law’s signature.”

“Then who?” Adrian asked, stepping toward the desk.

“The encryption key belongs to the Hart family holdings,” Isabella said.

My breath caught in my throat.

“Camille,” I said.

Adrian swore under his breath, a low, harsh sound.

“She doesn’t have the technical capability to breach this network on her own,” Isabella muttered, her fingers flying across the keys again. “She bought someone.”

“Who?” Adrian demanded.

“The only person who knew the routing address of this terminal,” Isabella said, looking up at us. “Marcus.”

Marcus was Isabella’s most trusted courier, the man who had brought us the blankets and the bread only hours ago.