The cold wind from the Alps howled through the stone corridors of the monastery long after Claire vanished. Emma stood frozen in the hallway, the photograph in her hand trembling as though it had a heartbeat of its own.

Max. Her son. Claire’s message had been brief, but not vague: “He’ll need to choose.”

Choose what?

Emma didn’t return to her suite. Instead, she headed straight for the war room—an impromptu operations center set up by Mariana and Jack on the monastery’s lower ...