“Is a second we use to ensure we don’t get caught,” I finish for him. “We need surveillance. We need to make plans. And most importantly—” I glance toward the bedroom where Keira sleeps, “—we need to decide what to tell her.”
Cyrus falls silent, his breathing heavy.
“If we tell her everything,” I continue, “she’ll insist on going with us or stopping us entirely. If we tell her nothing and disappear, we break her trust when she’s most vulnerable.”
“So what’s your plan?” The question comes through gritted teeth.
“I’ve already requested more information on the girls. School records, medical visits, and any CPS reports. We gather intelligence, then strike.” I meet his gaze steadily. “And we decide together what Keira needs to know.”
The wild rage in his eyes doesn’t diminish, but after a moment, he gives a sharp nod.
“Two days,” he says. “Not one second more.”
I lean back in my chair, fingers tapping against the glass surface of my desk. “What about the other one?”
“The other one?” Cyrus’s brow furrows momentarily before understanding dawns. “William Patterson.”
“Yes. The second predator who touched her.” My voice remains steady, but my knuckles whiten around the edge of the desk. “We need to find him, too.”
Cyrus pulls out his phone, thumbs flying across the screen. “Already ahead of you. I sent Felix his name while you were tracking down Henderson.”
I wait, watching my brother’s face for any reaction. It comes a moment later—his jaw tightens, then relaxes in a way I recognize as disappointment.
“He’s dead,” Cyrus says flatly. “Heart attack. Two years ago.”
“Fuck.” The word escapes before I can contain it. “Are you certain?”
He turns his phone to show me the death certificate on screen. “Confirmed. Died in a nursing home in Portland. The medical examiner ruled natural causes.”
I slam my palm against the desk, the sharp crack splitting the silence. Natural causes. A peaceful death for a man who deserved to die screaming.
“That’s one we can’t make pay,” I say, my voice ice-cold despite the rage burning beneath it. “But the first one, the one who took her innocence...”
Cyrus meets my eyes, and I see my own murderous intent reflected back at me. “He’ll suffer,” my brother promises. “We’ll make sure of it.”
“Slowly,” I add. “Thoroughly.”
The stillness that settles between us isn’t peaceful—it’s the calm deliberation of two predators planning a massacre.
I’ve spent my life calculating odds, anticipating threats, and eliminating obstacles with cold precision. But the thought of Keira facing her nightmares alone sends red-hot rage burning through my veins.
“She’s ours now,” I say, the words coming out like a vow. “No one touches what’s ours.”
Cyrus nods, understanding passing between us with the ease of shared DNA. “We protect what belongs to us.”
I move toward the bedroom, pausing at the threshold to watch Keira’s sleeping form. Even now, her body curls inward—protective, defensive. A lifetime of trauma written in the curve of her spine.
“We should’ve been there,” I murmur, not intending for Cyrus to hear, but he steps beside me anyway.
“We’re here now,” he replies, his voice gentle in a way few would believe possible. “That’s what matters.”
We stand in silent vigil, two sentinels guarding the one person who’s somehow broken through our carefully constructed walls.
Henderson will die. That’s certain. But first, he’ll answer for every moment of fear he planted in Keira’s mind. Every nightmare.
The desire to protect has always been reserved exclusively for Cyrus. Now it extends to Keira like another limb, another vital organ.
“She won’t ever feel like that again,” I promise, more to myself than to my brother. “Not helpless. Not trapped. Not while we breathe.”