The air in the room was thick with tension, and every tick of the antique grandfather clock in Jack’s penthouse sounded like a warning. Emma stood near the tall windows, arms crossed, her silhouette illuminated by the glowing city beyond. Rain tapped against the glass like impatient fingers.

Jack’s voice, usually smooth and composed, trembled with restrained urgency. “Emma, I need you to trust me. We’re closer to the truth than ever before.”

She turned to him slowly, her expression ...