“DAD!”

I crawled toward him.

Blood spread across his shirt.

Julia screamed for help.

Helena pulled me behind the stone wall.

But my father grabbed my wrist.

“Listen to me.”

His voice was weak.

“Your mother didn’t abandon you.”

“I know.”

“No,” he whispered.

“You don’t.”

He pulled a small envelope from inside his jacket.

“Open it when you’re safe.”

Then his eyes closed.

“No!”

Sirens filled the street.

The shooter disappeared.

Police arrived seconds later.

But I recognized the first officer who stepped out of the vehicle.

Detective Marcus Vale.

He looked at my father’s body.

Then at me.

And smiled.

It was the same smile I’d seen in Robert’s house.

A smile that said he knew something I didn’t.

“Take her into protective custody,” he ordered.

I stepped backward.

“No.”

“Sophia, you’re in danger.”

“From you?”

His smile vanished.

I ran.

Julia and Helena followed me into the church.

We locked the doors.

I opened the envelope my father had given me.

Inside was a letter.

The handwriting was shaky.

Sophia,

If you are reading this, Robert finally told you enough to make you dangerous.

There is one thing he never told you.

You weren’t the only child who survived Saint Helena.

I stopped.

There was another page.

The second survivor is your mother.

My hands began shaking.

“My mother survived?”

Helena nodded.

“She wasn’t supposed to.”

“Where is she?”

“Alive.”

I looked at her.

“You knew?”

“I’ve known for twenty years.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because every person who tried to find her disappeared.”

The church doors shook.

Someone was trying to break them down.

Then my phone rang.

The caller ID displayed:

MOM.

I answered.

For several seconds, there was only silence.

Then I heard my mother’s voice.

Clear.

Strong.

Impossible.

“Sophia.”

I dropped the phone.

My mother hadn’t spoken since her stroke.

“Mom?”

Her voice trembled.

“Don’t trust Robert.”

I froze.

“Mom, where are you?”

“You have to listen carefully.”

“Tell me where you are!”

A pause.

Then she whispered:

“Saint Helena.”

My blood turned cold.

“That place burned down.”

“I know.”

“Then how—”

“Because the fire was never meant to destroy Saint Helena.”

“What was it meant to destroy?”

My mother began crying.

“The evidence.”

The line went silent.

Then one final sentence came through.

“They’re coming for you because you are the evidence.”

The call ended.

At that exact moment, the church doors exploded inward.

Marcus Vale walked through the smoke.

Behind him stood Robert.

Alive.

And Robert was holding a gun.

NEXT PART