The cell door stood open.
Carolyn Cooley leaned against the frame, twirling the key between her fingers.
My heart sank.
She regarded me with a mocking smile. "Miss Henson. You made it."
A deliberate pause.
"Pity you're too late."
"I let him go."
"Looks like you'll never get your revenge now."
My voice turned to ice. "Do you have any idea what happens to someone who releases a prisoner from the Governor's Residence?"
She arched a brow. "Consequences?"
"The Commander said I can do whatever I want, as long as it makes me happy."
She paused again, pressing her fingertips to her lips in feigned surprise. "Oh! I almost forgot—that man left a message before he ran off. What was it again?"
"Ah, yes. Something about the young master of Henson Escort Agency."
My pupils contracted.
I seized her wrist. "Explain. Now."
Her expression shifted to exaggerated pity. "The Henson boy everyone thought was dead? He's alive. Been chained up in a sewer for seventeen years." She clicked her tongue. "Seventeen years. Can you even imagine what's left of him?"
Thud—a hammer blow to my chest.
The world tilted. I couldn't think.
Carolyn leaned closer, her breath warm against my ear. "Want to know where he is?"
"Then agree to one condition."
"Leave the Commander. Walk away and never come back."
I nodded without hesitation. "Done."
Surprise flickered across her face.
Then a scornful laugh. "He thinks he has you on a leash. Turns out you're the cold-hearted one."
My hand found her throat. "Enough games. The location. Now."
"Unless you'd rather not make it out of here alive."
I tightened my grip.
Fear flashed in her eyes.
She talked.
I ran.
Faster than I'd ever moved in my life.
It wasn't enough.
The sewer reeked—a wall of rot and filth that hit me before I even descended.
And there, curled in the darkness, was a young man's body.
He wore nothing but a threadbare undershirt that barely covered him. His spine had warped, twisted by years in a space too small for a human being. Every inch of skin—except his face—was unrecognizable. Scarred. Ruined.
Was this... Daryl?
My brother, Daryl Henson?
I clamped a hand over my mouth, retching.
An invisible fist closed around my heart and squeezed.
Daryl's mind had never grown past three years old, but he'd always been such a good child. When Father left on escort runs, he would sit by the gatehouse all day, perfectly content with his rattle drum. He loved sweets more than anything, yet he'd always save the last fried pastry for me, fighting his own cravings just to see me smile.
For seventeen years, I had stayed at Barnaby's side. Cared for him. Raised him into the man he became.
While my own brother rotted in a sewer. Neither human nor ghost.
What had Daryl ever done wrong?
His world was so small, so innocent—he didn't even understand what cruelty was.
Why? Why did he have to suffer like this?
I broke.
The sobs tore out of me, raw and uncontrollable.
If I had come fifteen minutes earlier—
If Barnaby hadn't hidden the truth to keep me under his thumb—
Would Daryl still be alive?
At the Governor's Residence.
Barnaby opened his eyes.
The guilt written across Carolyn's face sent a cold premonition crawling down his spine.
"What happened?"
She forced a nervous smile. "I... I released Miss Henson's enemy."
His expression eased slightly. "Then recapture him. Why the theatrics?"
Her voice trembled. "But... Miss Henson found out."
"She also learned... that someone from the Henson family survived. She's gone to save him—"
Barnaby's face darkened like a storm rolling in.
His jaw tightened.
Before he could speak, a voice came from beyond the door.
"Commander." Lieutenant Mercer. "A male body has been discovered beneath Osmanthus Alley—"
Barnaby waved him off, irritation bleeding through. "Report it to the Metropolitan Police Bureau. Why bring this to me?"
Ethan's voice faltered. "The deceased..."
"The deceased... is Miss Henson's younger brother."
