[Cassian’s POV]

The call comes at 3 a.m., which is never a good sign.

I’m awake immediately, years of discipline making the transition from sleep to alertness nearly instantaneous. The darkness of the bedroom feels different now—charged, expectant, as if the air itself knows something is about to change. Beside me, Adrian stirs, and Sophie—who has taken to sleeping in the middle, surrounded by pregnancy pillows that have essentially evicted us to the edges of the bed—makes a small sound of protest at the disturbance.

The phone screen shows Marcus’s name. The glow cuts through the darkness like a blade, harsh and unforgiving against my sleep-adjusted eyes, and something cold settles in my stomach. My heart rate spikes before my conscious mind can even process why.

“It’s Adrian’s colleague from Columbia,” I tell them, sitting up and reaching for the device. “I should answer.”

“Why would he call at 3 a.m.?” Adrian asks, his voice rough with sleep but sharpening with concern. I can hear the fear beneath the question—the same fear that’s been our constant companion for months.

I don’t have an answer, so I simply pick up. “Dr. Chen? This is Cassian Ward. Is— everything okay?”

“I’m sorry to call so late—or early, I suppose.” Marcus’s voice is strained, carrying an urgency that immediately puts me on high alert. Every muscle in my body tenses, preparing for whatever blow is about to land. “I need to speak with Adrian. It’s important.”

I hand the phone over, watching Adrian’s face as he listens. His expression shifts through several stages—confusion, surprise, something that might be grim satisfaction—before settling into an intensity I can’t quite read. The shadows play across his features, making him look older, harder, like a man preparing for battle. I find myself holding my breath, suspended between dread and desperate hope.

“Are you certain?” he asks. “You have documentation?”

Sophie is fully awake now, struggling to sit up against her fortress of pillows. I move to help her, propping her against the headboard while keeping my attention on Adrian’s half of the conversation. Her hand finds mine in the darkness, gripping tight, her pulse racing beneath her skin. I can feel the anxiety radiating from her, matching my own, the two of us united in this terrible, hopeful waiting.

“Forward it to me. Everything you have.” A pause. “Yes, I understand the risks. I’ll be careful.” Another pause, longer this time. “Thank you, Marcus. This means more than you know.”

He hangs up and stares at the phone for a long moment, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the bedroom. The silence stretches between us, thick and heavy, pregnant with possibility and dread. I count the seconds by the pounding of my own heart.

“What is it?” Sophie asks, her voice tight with anticipation. “What did he say?”

Adrian takes a breath, then another, clearly organizing his thoughts before speaking. I watch his chest rise and fall, watch the way his jaw works as he processes whatever he’s just learned. The waiting is excruciating—each second feels like an hour, time stretching and distorting under the weight of our collective anxiety.

“Marcus has been doing some digging since our conversation. Quietly, through channels Vaughn wouldn’t think to monitor. And he’s found something.”

He looks up, meeting our eyes with an intensity that makes my pulse quicken. “Apparently, I’m not the first person she’s done this to. There’s a pattern—other academics whose careers were mysteriously derailed after crossing her. And at least one of them was willing to go on record.”

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