The ballroom was so quiet you could hear the subtle hum of the air conditioners. For ten full seconds, no one moved. The high-society guests who had spent the evening sipping thousand-dollar champagne stood frozen, their eyes locked on the woman in the pale blue gown.

"Where is the watch, Clara?" Dr. Kane asked, stepping closer into the SUV, the barrel of his weapon aimed directly between her eyes. "And where is the boy?"

Clara’s heart hammered against her ribs. Her legs were still weak, stiff, and barely responsive, but the fire inside her was fully alive.

"Richard sent you to finish what he started five years ago," Clara spat, holding her chin high. "You murdered Julian!"

Kane laughed softly, a dry, soulless sound against the falling rain. "Julian? Julian was weak. He wanted to give away the company's research to the public for free. Richard understood business. But you... you were the obstacle. We couldn't kill you—your shares automatically transferred to a public trust if you died without an heir. So, keeping you broken, silent, and invalid in a chair was the perfect solution."

"And the boy?" Clara pressed, delaying for time as her hand slipped behind her back, reaching for the metal heavy-duty umbrella lying on the floorboard. "Who is he?"

"A mistake," Kane growled, his face twisting in anger. "A bastard child of a lab assistant who stole our most dangerous research. Give me the drive!"

"Catch it," Clara snarled.

With every ounce of strength left in her body, Clara swung the heavy steel handle of the umbrella into Kane's kneecap. A sickening crack echoed, and Kane shrieked in pain, stumbling backward onto the wet concrete.

Clara tumbled out of the car, her weak legs giving way beneath her. She dragged herself across the pavement, her fingernails digging into the dirt, screaming for Arthur.

"Get back here, you bitch!" Kane roared, aiming his gun from the ground.

BANG.

A shot rang out, but it didn't come from Kane's gun. Kane collapsed forward, a red stain spreading across his shoulder.

Through the rain and fog, a figure emerged from the shadows of the warehouse. He was tall, dressed in a long dark coat, his face obscured by a hat. Behind him stepped the little boy from the gala.

The man walked slowly toward Kane, kicked the pistol away from the doctor's hand, and then turned his gaze toward Clara.

When he stepped under the dim alley streetlight, Clara gasped, the breath completely leaving her lungs.

The scarred, weathered face staring down at her belonged to the man she had buried five years ago.