“You have the package,” the caller said, ignoring the question.

I pressed my hand to my chest, trying to quiet the sound of my own breathing.

“The schedule is accurate,” the voice continued. “The boy has his mother’s eyes.”

Damon’s entire body went rigid.

“If you come near my son, I will tear your world apart,” Damon said, his tone dropping to a deadly whisper.

A soft, mocking chuckle came through the speaker.

“You have been trying to do that for four years, Mr. Vale,” the caller said. “And yet, here we are.”

The line went dead.

The sudden silence in the room was heavier than the noise had been.

I stared at the black screen of the phone.

“Four years,” I repeated, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.

Damon did not look at me.

He stared at the wall behind the desk, his eyes fixed on something I could not see.

“Nora,” he said softly.

“What did he mean by four years, Damon?” I demanded.

My voice shook, but the fear was rapidly turning into a cold, sharp anger.