“We need to go,” Lucian said, grabbing the USB drive from the laptop.

He shoved it into his pocket and reached for his coat.

Before we could move, my phone began to vibrate violently in my hand.

It was a FaceTime call.

The screen showed Alina’s name.

I looked at Lucian, my heart pounding against my ribs.

“Answer it,” he said.

I swiped the screen and held the phone up.

The camera flickered to life.

It was the back office of the Black Orchid.

Alina was tied to a heavy wooden chair in the center of the room.

A thick strip of silver duct tape was secured over her mouth.

Her hair was disheveled, and her eyes were wide with terror, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Behind her stood a man.

He was wearing the same damp wool coat we had just seen.

He held a heavy black pistol, the barrel pressed firmly against Alina’s temple.

In his other hand, he held his phone, directing the camera at her.

“Hello, Mara,” Sinclair’s voice came through the speaker, calm and steady.