A stranger broke open Claire Bennett’s bedroom door—and the first thing she asked was:

Vivian walked down the stone stairs, flanked by Dr. Arthur Vance and four armed security guards holding automatic pistols.

Vivian wore an immaculate black wool coat, her face cold, calculating, and utterly unbothered by the damp cellar air. She held a silver fountain pen and a stack of legal estate transfer documents in her left hand.

"Stand down, Mr. Hale," Vivian said lazily, gesturing toward Ethan, who immediately raised his shotgun, aiming it at her chest. "Shoot me, and my men will riddle that poor girl with holes before I hit the ground."

Ethan didn't lower the gun. "It's over, Vivian. The police know she's alive!"

"The police know nothing!" Vivian snapped, stepping closer. "As far as the state of Maine is concerned, Claire Bennett died twenty years ago. If two unidentified bodies are found inside this cellar after the demolition crew accidentally triggers a structural collapse... who will ever know?"

She turned her icy blue eyes toward Claire, who stood motionless in front of the iron safe.

"Give me the combination, Claire," Vivian commanded, holding out the legal papers. "Sign these conservatorship release forms, and I will let your little friend walk out of here alive. Refuse, and he dies right here in front of you."

Dr. Vance stepped forward, his hands trembling violently as he held a syringe filled with a clear liquid. "Vivian... please, no more violence... just get the papers signed!"

"Shut up, Arthur!" Vivian barked.

Claire looked at her aunt—the woman who had stolen twenty years of her life, who had locked her in a pitch-black room, who had erased her name from the human race.

Claire didn't cry. She didn't cower.

Instead, a cold, beautiful smile spread across Claire's pale face.