The red emergency lights strobed against the sterile white walls, turning the hallway into a macabre disco. The high-pitched wail of the siren wasn't just an alarm; it was a physical weight, vibrating in my teeth.
"Reid, the doors!" I shouted over the noise.
The heavy electromagnetic locks on Leo's room clicked into place. My brother jumped from his chair, the mechanical watch parts scattering across the floor like shrapnel. His eyes, wide and panicked, locked onto mine through the glass. He didn't know who I was—to him, I was a ghost from a life he'd been forced to forget—but he saw the desperation in my face.
"Stand back, Leo!" Reid commanded.
Reid didn't reach for a key. He didn't look for a keypad. He reached into his tailored jacket and pulled out a heavy, industrial-grade glass breaker—a tool that looked absurdly out of place in the hands of a billionaire.
CRACK.
The reinforced glass spiderwebbed. One more blow and the sheet shivered into a thousand diamonds. Reid kicked the remaining shards out of the frame and reached through, unlatching the manual override.
"Who are you?" Leo asked, his voice cracking. He was backed into the corner, a screwdriver gripped in his hand like a weapon.
"I'm Maya," I said, stepping into the room. I didn't care about the glass cutting into my boots. "I'm your sister, Leo. I'm the one who sent the books. The one who sent the letters Eleanor never let you read."
Leo's eyes searched mine. For a second, the fourteen-year-old boy replaced the "Patient 402" mask. "The girl from the studio in Astoria? With the blue rug?"
"Yes," I sobbed, reaching for him. "The blue rug."
He dropped the screwdriver. He didn't hug me—he was too shell-shocked for that—but he grabbed my hand with a grip that told me he wasn't letting go.
"We have three minutes before the tactical response team arrives," Reid said, checking his watch. The "Ice King" was in full command now. "Maya, take the service stairs. There's a grey van waiting by the North cliff. The driver's name is Miller. He's mine."
"What about you?" I asked, seeing him turn back toward the main corridor.
"I have to ensure the server upload completes," Reid said. His jaw was set so tight I thought it might snap. "If I don't stay within range of the local hub, my mother's lawyers will kill the transmission. I have to be the lightning rod, Maya. I have to stay while you run."
"No! I just found you!"
Reid grabbed my face, his thumbs wiping away the salt and grit. "You saved me in that diner by lying to me. Let me save you by telling the truth. I love you, Maya Gable. I've loved you since the first time you burnt my toast. Now go."
He pushed us toward the stairwell just as the heavy thud of combat boots echoed from the far end of the hall.
"Go!"
I grabbed Leo's arm and plunged into the darkness of the stairwell. We flew down the concrete steps, the sound of our breathing ragged and loud. My mind was a whirlwind. He loved me. He loved me since the toast.
We burst out of the North exit into the freezing island air. The mist had turned into a downpour. Fifty yards away, perched dangerously close to the cliff's edge, sat a nondescript grey van.
"Maya, look!" Leo pointed back at the school.
The top floor—the administrative wing where the servers were housed—was glowing. Not with emergency lights, but with the blue, flickering light of a massive data transfer. And then, the shadows of four men in tactical gear swarmed the balcony.
Pop. Pop-pop.
"Silencers," I whispered, my heart stopping.
I saw a figure silhouetted against the blue light. Tall. Lean. Unmoving. Reid was standing his ground, his laptop open on the stone railing, his body a shield between the mercenaries and the truth.
"We have to help him!" Leo cried.
"We can't," I said, the words tasting like ash. "If we go back, he did this for nothing."
We reached the van. The door slid open, and a man with a weathered face and an ex-military posture ushered us in. "Get in! Fast!"
"Wait!" I turned back to the cliff.
On the balcony, the blue light turned green. Upload Complete.
At that exact moment, the lead mercenary slammed the butt of a rifle into the back of Reid's head. I saw him crumple. I saw them hoist him up, not like a man, but like a prize.
"Reid!" I screamed, but the van door slammed shut, muffling my voice.
"We have to go, ma'am," Miller said, his voice grim. "Mr. Sterling's orders were absolute. You and the boy are the priority. He said... he said he'd see you at the 'foundation'."
"The foundation?" I asked, clutching Leo to my chest as the van tore away, tires screaming on the wet gravel. "What foundation?"
"He didn't mean the Sterling Foundation," Leo whispered, looking at a small slip of paper he'd snatched from Reid's hand during the chaos.
I took the paper. It wasn't a map. It wasn't a bank account.
It was a recipe. Handwritten on the back of a Sterling Group memo.
Two cups flour. One cup buttermilk. A pinch of salt. Don't over-flip.
"The Silver Star," I breathed. "He's going back to the beginning."
As the van sped toward the ferry terminal, leaving the island of secrets behind, I looked at my brother. We were free. The five-million-dollar debt was paid. But the man who paid it was now in the hands of a woman who had no soul left to lose.