The silence that followed the shattering of the frequency was louder than any gunshot. Rocco stood in the center of the library, his hand still hovering over his ear as the phantom ring of the feedback loop faded. He looked at the cracked ruby—now a dull, dead pebble against my skin—and then at the terminal screen, which glowed with a green that matched the digital ghost of the Moretti legacy.

"You’ve broken it," he said. His voice wasn't a roar; it was a low, dangerous vibration. "Do you ...