Mila couldn’t sleep that night.

The hospital lights flickered dimly above her, and the cold chair by her father’s bed dug into her spine. Every beep from the machine monitoring his heart was a reminder that time was slipping—time for answers, for truth, for closure.

But the silence pressed harder than the machines ever could.

Zara hadn’t spoken a word since her warning earlier. She sat across the room, her flawless face pale, her mascara smudged, her hair falling loose around her ...