The courtyard outside the courthouse was a storm of flashes, microphones, and shouted questions. Security guards kept a strict periter, allowing only a controlled cluster of reporters to inch forward as Old Mr. Thorne and Florence stepped out first.
One reporter, braver—or more shaless—than the others raised her voice above the crowd.
"Mr. and Mrs. Thorne! How does it feel to finally see justice served for your daughter and her husband?"
Florence stopped walking. Tears shimred at the corners of her eyes, trembling but refusing to fall. She held herself with the dignity of a woman who had learned long ago that grief could not be allowed to crush her.
"It feels..." Her voice broke, then steadied. "It feels like peace. Like rest. Emily’s death has weighed heavily on us for many years. Today, I feel as though so part of her can finally sleep."
Old Mr. Thorne cleared his throat, looking older than he had that morning but lighter, too. "We can’t bring our children back... but justice is a rcy in itself. We are grateful."
Another reporter pushed forward. "Athena! Athena Thorne! A word, please! How do you feel?"
Athena, standing beside Ewan, kept her posture straight, composed, even though the question hit a tender place within her.
"I never t my mother," she said quietly. "The people responsible for her death robbed of that. But today..." She drew in a breath. "Today I stand here knowing I honored her mory. And that is enough."
A loaded pause, before a different reporter’s voice sliced through the noise.
"And what about your relationship with Mr. Ewan Giacotti? Are the rumors true?"
The crowd sharpened. The air itself leaned in.
Athena looked at Ewan. He looked at her. Their smiles matched—warm, helpless, and undeniably telling.
At the sa second, they answered: "No comnt."
That only fueled the dia frenzy; their joined expression and answer was more than enough confirmation.
But security swept in imdiately, preventing more questions, shepherding the family toward the line of waiting cars.
Sandro was already behind the wheel of one, Zane in the passenger seat, turning around with a grin as Athena and Ewan climbed into the back.
"You did well, boss," Sandro said, tapping the steering wheel. "Couldn’t be prouder."
Athena laughed, tension lting from her shoulders. Behind them, her grandparents were already seated in their own car.
She had barely settled into her seat when the door flung open again.
"Athena! Please tell there’s space!"
"Aiden!" she shrieked.
Her friend slid into the last space on the seat, closing the door before the reporters could get a peek.
She threw her hand across his shoulder. "You have been scarce! Completely missing! Where have you been?"
Aiden shrugged, though there was a weight behind the gesture. "Spider and I have been working. A lot. The team we have been working with on the Grey case dropped sothing ssy on our laps. We’ll talk when we get ho."
Athena pulled back slightly, studying him.
His face—usually bright, mischievous—was tense. lancholic. Sothing was wrong. Sothing he hadn’t said. And the mont she sensed it, worry crawled sharp and cold through her chest.
What could they have possibly found? The identity of the sponsor? Or maybe more machinations that would explain why the coldhearted monsters had gone silent?
Before she could push further, a sharp knock sounded on the window.
John stood outside, flanked by a guard.
Athena rolled the window down. "Mr. John? Aren’t you supposed to be resting?"
She thought the fellow lucky, he and Connor, as they hadn’t been sentenced by the judge because of the value of testimonies given and their rehabilitation efforts.
Well, Ewan did say that Connor was done with hire-for-murder/torture lifestyle, but really she would have to see to believe.
He shook his head. "No ti. I’m heading to the airport. They’re flying straight back to base."
Behind him, several more guards ford a protective half-circle.
"Extra security," John explained. "According to Ewan. Just in case my son is watching. He arranged decoys too—cars, signals, movents—to confuse any tracker. Standard procedure. Thank you, Ewan."
Ewan shrugged. "Stay safe, old man."
"I intend to," John replied. "But before I go... there’s sothing I rembered."
Zane’s brows creased. "About what?"
John exhaled. "About people I once worked with. Seeing Herbert today—it triggered sothing. He and a few others worked on a classified research project years ago. A dicine. Trials. Experints. The works. Sothing like the Grey. And when the project failed, when it yielded nothing, they hired people like to... dispose of the remains."
The car went silent.
Athena’s gaze flicked toward Ewan. His expression had gone unreadable.
Zane leaned forward, his jaw tight. "What exactly are you trying to say, John?"
"I don’t even know, Zane." the older man admitted. "I know he is your father, but I just felt I should tell you all. Sothing about Herbert’s face today reminded of a particular case. And when mories co back after so long... it’s usually for a reason."
Athena felt sothing tingle at the back of her mind. A na... a term... sothing she had studied—years ago, during her specialized banned modules; when she had co across governnt closed projects.
"What was the project called?" she asked softly. "Do you rember?"
John nodded. "Yes. They called it Project Seraph-X."
The mont the na left his mouth, Athena gasped. The buried mory snapped into place.
"Seraph-X..."
Ewan snapped his head toward her sharply. "You know it?"
"Yes," she whispered. "I studied it once. Barely. It was always ntioned vaguely, like sothing everyone pretended never existed." Her brows knitted. "But there was a lead researcher... a woman... she used a pseudonym in the field. I rember her work overshadowing everyone else’s."
"What na?" Ewan asked, rely curious.
Athena searched her mory. The na surfaced slowly, drifting upward through years of academic clutter.
"Dr. Liy Linwood."
Ewan’s breath punched out of him. His entire body went rigid.
John’s face shifted with recognition. "Yes. That’s the one. Liy Linwood."
The color drained from Ewan’s face.
Athena, always attuned to his energy, stared at him then, horror creeping into her chest.
"Ewan...?" she whispered.
He swallowed hard.
"Liy Linwood," John continued gently, not sure what news he was delivering, but needing to get it all out. "was one of the scientists who refused to release the dicine to the public because of its volatility. She disagreed with the others. Called it unethical. A waste. Said it needed more ti."
John’s face sobered. "So they did away with her. Or rather hired to do away with her and her husband."
The mont hung suspended.
Athena felt every heartbeat echo inside her skull.
She didn’t speak—not because she didn’t want to—but because her mind suddenly connected the dots she hadn’t known existed.
Her voice ca out fractured. "The woman who spearheaded the research... she... Yes, she’s the sa woman whose husband funded every stage of it. And that man..."
She swallowed. "...was one of Herbert’s closest friends. I rember the report... the rumours... Herbert had been involved in the research... it also involved the military..."
She stopped. Because Ewan’s hands were shaking. Hard. Violently.
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