Alina’s fingers never left the console, her eyes scanning every feed, every angle of Sterling Tower. Helena stood alone in the hallway, a singular figure in the dim light, yet her presence was magnetic, commanding, and utterly deliberate. She wasn’t hiding. She wasn’t panicking. She was a mother who knew the battlefield intimately and had placed herself precisely where she needed to be: visible, vulnerable, and yet untouchable—if anyone dared make a mistake.

Patricia leaned against ...