The morning began with excitement buzzing in every corner of the house—and just a bit of chaos.

Four suitcases were zipped, double-zipped, and sat-on-zipped. Three tote bags were stuffed with snacks, chargers, and emergency wet wipes. Abbey checked the train tickets (again), while Becky wrangled Ruby into her Minnie Mouse hoodie. She was four years old, practically vibrating with excitement, and ...

**Prologue: The Making**

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They hammered her into shape on a moonless night.

The frame was carved from black wood that bled when cut, soaked in the sorrow of the tree it came from. A tree that had grown alone, twisted, forgotten in a graveyard where no one buried their dead properly. Its roots had feasted on secrets and rot. Its bark bore curses like rings in its age. The wood creaked as it ...

PROLOGUE

There are rules they don’t write down.

The ones whispered over black coffee at 3 a.m., in autopsy rooms and evidence lockers and bullet-riddled safe houses. The ones only the survivors ever mention.

Don’t trust what’s sealed in red tape.

Don’t ask where the bodies go after Quantico signs off.

And above all—if you find something you’re not supposed to see… run.

I never believed those r...