“Thank you,” I whisper, my fingers gently brushing her weathered cheek. “For the keys. For keeping the secret. For everything you’ve done for me…for us.”
“You’re your mother’s daughter,” Mrs. Whitley says, catching my hand in both of hers, her grip surprisingly strong. “Not his. Remember that, little one.”
“I will,” I promise, my voice thick. “Now go.”
She nods, shifting the car into drive. “Call me when you can, little one.”
The sedan crunches down the gravel drive and disappears into the dark tree line, heading toward the main road and the home she kept off the property. The one Wade had never known about, the one where she’d finally be safe.
Behind us, the manor’s windows explode outward in a shower of glass and fire. Flames devour the second story, greedy and unstoppable. The roof sags, then collapses inward with a thunderous crack, sending a storm of sparks spiraling into the night sky like dying stars. Lila is already in the truck, rifle stowed, files spread across her lap. I climb into the passenger seat, slamming the door as Sterling guns the engine, and the first distant sirens begin to wail from the valley below. No one speaks until we hit the interstate.
Lila breaks the silence first, her voice shaky as she shifts through the files in the fireproof bag. “There’s a facility address. Upstate. Near the mountains.” She swallows hard. “And...Jesus, Kiera, there are kids’ names in here. Dozens of them.”
“Cam,” Sterling says into his earpiece, voice flat and hard. “We’re inbound. Twenty minutes. Have the scanners ready and the coffee hot. We’ve got a lot of reading to do.”
I touch the pearls at my throat and stare out the window at the dark highway unwinding before us. The fire is behind us. The Nesting House is ahead. And somewhere in the weight of these files, in the third pearl on the left side of my necklace, was the reason she’d died humming my song.
“We’re coming,” I whisper to the glass. The truck ate up the miles, carrying us back toward the warehouse where Cam waited with his screens and his silence. toward the next war.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The warehouse smells like burnt coffee and electricity when we arrive. Cam's setup sprawls across three folding tables, monitors glowing a cold blue in the pre-dawn darkness, cables snaking across the concrete floor like veins. He doesn't look up when we enter. His injured arm moves stiffly across the keyboard as he keeps going. “Files,” he says, holding out his good hand without missing a beat. Sterling drops the fireproof bag on the table. Cam unzips it with his teeth, dumping the contents across his workspace. The photographs scatter. Maps unfold. The cream-colored Cicada folders fan out like accusations. Lila moves to the coffee maker, her hands shaking as she pours four mugs. She's been quiet since we left the burning manor, her usual chatter replaced by something brittle and sharp. “How bad?” she asks, not looking at any of us.
“Bad," Cam says, his eyes scanning documents faster than should be humanly possible. “This isn't just trafficking. This is... Fucking Christ.” He pulls up a file on the center monitor. The screen fills with a scanned document full of medical terminology I don't understand—genetic markers, compatibility percentages, donor codes. I lean over his shoulder, reading. The words blur together until one phrase snaps into focus, cold and clinical:Genetic Pairing Protocol - Phase One: Subject Acquisition.
“They were matching children,” I say, my voice hollow. “Based on genetics.”
“Not just matching,” Cam corrects, pulling up another document. “Engineering.” He taps the screen, his voice dropping. “They identifiedspecific genetic markers in children. Rare combinations. Then they... acquired them. Foster systems, mostly. Sometimes, straight purchases from parents who didn't ask questions.”
Sterling moves behind me, his hand finding the small of my back—grounding, steady, a silent reminder that I’m not alone. "Acquired for what purpose?" he asks, his voice edged with fury.
Cam's jaw works for a few seconds before the words come out. “Pairings. They brought compatible subjects together. Raised them in controlled environments.” He swallows hard. “The Nesting House wasn't just a facility. It was an incubator." The room goes quiet, even the hum of the monitors seems to fade.
"Show me the subject list," I say.
Cam hesitates. His eyes flick to Sterling, then back to me. "Kiera..."
"Show me." Cam hesitates, then pulls up the spreadsheet. Names scroll down the left column. Dates of acquisition. Genetic markers. Pairing assignments. I scan the list, my heart hammering against my ribs. Then I see it. A single name…my name.
Subject 001-A:
Kiera Rayne Hawthorne
DOB:
02/14/2000
Acquisition:
2007
Paired with:
[DATA CORRUPTED]
My vision tunnels. The warehouse spins. I grip the edge of the table, knuckles white. "The pairing data is missing," Cam says, frustration bleeding into his voice. "Someone scrubbed it. I can see that you were Subject 001-A,but your pairing's identity is completely corrupted. Could be fire damage to the original files…could be intentional deletion.”
"What about the other subjects?" Sterling asks, his voice carefully neutral.