The Kingston estate’s study was dimly lit, the curtains drawn tight against the storm still raging outside.

A fire burned low in the hearth, throwing flickers of orange light across the heavy oak table where Aaron, Lucas, and Margaret sat. Tris lingered near the shelves with her arms folded and her expression tense.

Margaret set down her phone on the table, just after the call, her movements deliberate and controlled.

“Your private investigator was right, Aaron,” she said, her voice ...