Chapter 20 · The Door Back Home

The phone went dead in Charlotte's hand.

Nine years of silence, then thirty seconds of her daughter's voice, and now nothing. The screen was black. No signal. No missed call log. Like the thing had never rung at all.

Marcus was three feet away, gun still holstered, hands visible. He hadn't moved since the voice cut through the warehouse. "Charlotte."

"Shut up."

"I know what you heard."

"I said shut up." She kept the Glock leveled at his chest. Her hand wasn't shaking. It should've been. Lisa's voice had sounded older. Tired. Real.

"We've got maybe two minutes before Ivy's people sweep this sector." Marcus took half a step forward. "You want answers or you want to die here arguing?"

Charlotte's jaw locked. The hair clip in her pocket—the only piece of Lisa she had left that didn't blur when she tried to remember—was digging into her thigh through the denim. She could feel every ridge of the plastic butterfly wings.

"She said not to trust you."

"Yeah." Marcus didn't blink. "And she's right. But she also knows I'm the only one who can open that door."

"What door."

"The one they've been keeping her behind for nine years.