The address for Thomas Ward led to a farmhouse in the southern plains of Veridia, a region of wide horizons and endless wheat fields that had been harvested by the same families for five generations. The house was white clapboard with a wraparound porch and a barn that had been converted into a workshop. Wind chimes hung from the eaves, their notes carrying on the warm spring breeze.
Eamon drove alone. Derek Hale had returned to the Attorney General's office to coordinate the legal fallout from Sterling's death, and the tactical team had been reassigned to other operations. The search for the remaining children had become quieter now, more delicate—a matter of knocking on doors rather than kicking them down.
The woman who answered the farmhouse door was in her sixties, her gray hair pulled back in a practical bun, her hands calloused from years of working the land. She looked at Eamon with suspicion but not hostility.
"Mrs. Ward?" Eamon asked.
"Who's asking?"
"My name is Eamon Graves. I'm working with the Attorney General's office to locate children who were placed through a private adoption agency called Meridian. I believe a boy named Thomas Ward was placed with you approximately eight years ago."
The woman's expression did not change, but her hand tightened on the doorframe. "There's no Thomas Ward here."
"Mrs. Ward, I'm not here to take anyone away. I'm here to make sure the children are safe. The people who operated the adoption agency were part of a human trafficking network. They've been dismantled, but we're trying to find all the children who were placed through them."
"I don't know anything about any trafficking network."
"But you do know about the adoption. Because Selene Ward is your daughter."
The silence stretched between them. Behind the woman, Eamon could see a modest living room—overstuffed furniture, a fireplace, a mantel crowded with photographs. And in one of those photographs, a dark-haired boy with serious eyes, standing beside the woman who was now blocking the doorway.
"He's not here," Mrs. Ward said finally. "Selene took him. Three days ago. She said there was trouble—that people were looking for the children, that they needed to disappear again."
"Disappear where?"
"I don't know. She didn't tell me. She just said she would contact me when it was safe." Mrs. Ward's voice cracked. "I raised that boy for eight years. He called me Grandma. And now he's gone, and I don't know where he is."
Eamon felt the familiar cold settling in his chest. Selene Ward had been three days ahead of them. She had known Sterling was compromised. She had known the addresses would be found. And she had moved to collect the children before anyone else could reach them.
"Did your daughter say anything about the other children? Three others—Lena, Silas, and Mira?"
"She mentioned them. She said they were all going to the same place. A safe place." Mrs. Ward wiped her eyes. "I don't believe her. I've never believed her. She's been lying to me since she was a child."
"Mrs. Ward, I need to find those children. Not to hurt them. To protect them. Can you tell me anything about where your daughter might have taken them?"
Mrs. Ward was silent for a long moment. Then she stepped aside. "Come in. There's something I need to show you."
The living room smelled of lavender and old wood. Mrs. Ward led Eamon to a small study at the back of the house, where a desk was covered with papers. She rummaged through a drawer and withdrew a photograph.
"This was taken three years ago," she said. "Selene came to visit. She brought a man with her—a business associate, she called him. They spent the whole weekend talking in hushed voices, going through papers. I didn't know what it was about. But I took this photograph because... because I didn't trust him."
Eamon looked at the photograph. Selene Ward was a striking woman in her late forties, dark-haired and sharp-featured, her eyes cold and calculating. The man beside her was older, broad-shouldered, with pale eyes and a face that Eamon recognized immediately.
Reginald Blackwood.
"Reginald was here," Eamon said. "Three years ago. At your house."
"You know him?"
"He's the head of the trafficking network. He's in federal custody now." Eamon looked up from the photograph. "Your daughter was meeting with him. In secret. At your house."
"Reginald Blackwood." Mrs. Ward sank into a chair. "I knew the name. Selene mentioned him sometimes. She said he was a client. I didn't realize—"
"Your daughter was his secret legal counsel for twenty years. She handled his most sensitive operations. The adoptions, the disappearances, the cover-ups. She was more than a lawyer. She was his partner."
Mrs. Ward's face had gone gray. "And Thomas? The boy I raised?"
"Thomas was one of the children from the protocol. He was born to a servant at Ashgrove, Reginald's estate. He should have been hidden away or worse. But your daughter adopted him. She brought him here. Why would she do that?"
"Because she couldn't have children of her own." Mrs. Ward's voice was barely a whisper. "She wanted a family. She said she found a way."
"By taking a child that her employer wanted to erase."
"I didn't know. I swear to God, I didn't know."
Eamon set down the photograph. "Mrs. Ward, I believe you. But right now, your daughter has four children with her, and she's running from an investigation that has already destroyed the Blackwood empire. If she's caught, she'll be charged with kidnapping and human trafficking. Those children will be taken into state custody. But if she comes forward voluntarily—if she brings the children back before this goes any further—there might be a chance for her."
"What kind of chance?"
"A chance to cooperate. To tell the authorities what she knows about the network. To reduce her sentence." Eamon paused. "Do you have any way to contact her?"
Mrs. Ward walked to the desk and opened a drawer. Inside was a prepaid phone, identical to the burners that Malachi had been using for months. "She gave me this. For emergencies. She said I should only call if something terrible happened."
"Something terrible has happened. Call her."
---
The call went to voicemail. Mrs. Ward left a message, her voice shaking: "Selene, it's your mother. A man came to the house. He says you need to bring the children back. He says it's not too late to cooperate. Please call me. Please."
They waited. The sun moved across the sky. The wind chimes on the porch rang in the breeze. And then, at dusk, the prepaid phone buzzed.
Mrs. Ward answered it with trembling hands. "Selene?"
"Put him on." The voice was cold and clipped, the voice of someone who had been giving orders for decades.
Mrs. Ward handed the phone to Eamon.
"This is Eamon Graves."
"I know who you are." Selene Ward's voice carried no emotion. "You're the one who brought down the Blackwoods. The clockmaker. The spy. The man who spent seven years planning revenge for a crime you confessed to."
"And you're the one who's been hiding children for a decade. Using my name to cover your tracks."
"Your name was convenient. Elias Crane had no history, no connections, no way to be traced. It was the perfect cover for adoptions that needed to stay off the books." There was a pause. "Victor is dead."
"He killed himself rather than face arrest."
"He was a coward. He always was." Selene's voice hardened. "But the children are safe. They've always been safe. Whatever you think of me, I never hurt them."
"Then bring them back. Cooperate with the investigation. Tell the authorities what you know about the network."
"And spend the rest of my life in prison? No. That's not an option."
"There are twenty-three children who were found through the protocol. Four are with you. The others are in protective custody, waiting to be placed with families who will actually love them. You can be part of that. You can help us find the ones who are still missing."
"There are no more missing children. Sterling and I found them all. We placed them all. The protocol is complete."
"Then what are you running from?"
Selene was silent for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter. "There's a child you haven't found. One who isn't in the protocol. One who was never recorded in any file, any ledger, any list."
"Who?"
"Julian Blackwood VII. The legitimate heir. Celeste's son."
"Iris's brother. He's with Celeste's parents. He's safe."
"Is he? Celeste's parents are Thaddeus Vane's relatives. They're part of the network. And they know that the boy is the last legitimate heir to the Blackwood fortune. If Reginald dies in prison—and he will—everything passes to Julian VII. Including the offshore accounts that the authorities haven't found."
Eamon felt the cold in his chest sharpen. "You're saying the boy is in danger."
"I'm saying the network isn't dead. It's wounded, but it's still alive. And the people who are left will do anything to protect what remains of the Blackwood legacy. Including eliminating the heir if he becomes a liability."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you're the only one who might believe me. The authorities think the case is closed. The journalists have moved on. But you're still searching. Still looking. That's what you do, isn't it? You find the lost ones."
"Then help me find them. Bring the children back. Tell me where Julian VII is."
Another long silence. Outside, the wind chimes rang in the darkness.
"There's a boat. At the Ironhaven harbor. Dock 17. It leaves at midnight tonight. I'll be there with the children. If you want them, come alone. No authorities. No tactical teams. Just you."
"And if I bring the authorities?"
"Then the boat leaves without you, and you never see the children again. Or the heir. Your choice, Mr. Graves."
The line went dead.
Eamon handed the phone back to Mrs. Ward. "Thank you. You may have saved those children's lives."
"What are you going to do?"
"What I have to."
---
The Ironhaven harbor was dark and silent at midnight. The dock lights cast pale reflections on the black water, and the ships that lined the piers were still, their crews long since departed for the bars and boardinghouses of the waterfront district. Dock 17 was at the far end of the harbor, a private slip that had once been used by the Vale Alliance Shipping Company.
Eamon parked the borrowed sedan at the edge of the dock and walked toward the slip. His footsteps echoed on the wooden planks. The air smelled of salt and diesel and the faint, metallic tang of rust.
The boat was a yacht—sleek and white, its engines idling, its running lights dark. A gangplank extended from the deck to the dock. At the end of the gangplank stood a woman.
Selene Ward was smaller than Eamon had expected. Her photograph had made her seem larger, more imposing. In person, she was thin and sharp, her dark hair streaked with gray, her eyes the same cold, calculating eyes that had stared out of the photograph. She wore a dark coat and held a small bag in one hand.
"Mr. Graves," she said. "You came alone."
"Where are the children?"
"Below deck. They're sleeping. They don't know what's happening. They think this is an adventure." Selene's voice was flat. "I've been taking care of them for years. Whatever you think of me, that's the truth."
"The truth is that you worked for a trafficking network for twenty years. You helped Reginald Blackwood hide his crimes. You used my identity to process illegal adoptions. You don't get to claim the moral high ground."
"I'm not claiming anything. I'm telling you what I did." Selene looked out at the dark water. "I joined the Blackwood network when I was twenty-six years old. Fresh out of law school, idealistic, ready to change the world. Reginald offered me a job. He said I would be helping protect the family's interests. I didn't ask what that meant."
"When did you find out?"
"Five years in. I was processing paperwork for a child—a boy, about three years old. His name was Silas. He had been born to a servant at Ashgrove, and Reginald wanted him erased. Not killed—Reginald never used that word—but 'placed.' Made to disappear. I asked Lionel Morrow what that meant. He told me."
"And you kept working."
"I told myself I could do more good inside the network than outside it. I told myself I could protect the children from within." Selene's voice cracked. "I was lying to myself. I know that now. But at the time, it was the only way I could live with what I was doing."
"The four children. The ones from the protocol."
"Thomas, Lena, Silas, and Mira. I adopted Thomas myself. My mother raised him. Sterling and I placed the others with families who were paid to keep them safe. The payments came from an offshore account that Reginald didn't know about. I skimmed it from the trafficking profits. It was my way of balancing the ledger."
"That's not how ledgers work."
"No. It isn't." Selene turned to face him. "The boy—Julian VII—is with his grandparents at a compound in the Sylvan Isles. It's owned by a shell company that traces back to Thaddeus Vane. The people there are still loyal to the network. They see the boy as the future of the Blackwood legacy. But if the authorities get too close, they'll destroy him rather than let him be taken."
"Why? He's a child."
"He's an asset. That's all he's ever been. An asset to be protected or eliminated, depending on what's most convenient." Selene met his eyes. "I've been part of that machine for twenty years. I know how it works. And I'm telling you that if you don't get to that compound before the authorities do, that boy is dead."
Eamon absorbed this. "The children on the boat. What happens to them now?"
"They go into protective custody. They testify about what they know—which isn't much, but enough to corroborate the protocol. And then they go to families who will actually love them. Not families who are paid. Not families who see them as assets." Selene paused. "I'm not going with them."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm turning myself in. When the authorities arrive—and I assume you've already called them, despite my instructions—I'll be waiting. I'll cooperate. I'll tell them everything I know about the network, the offshore accounts, the remaining operatives. And I'll serve whatever sentence they give me."
Eamon studied her. "Why? Why now?"
"Because Victor is dead. Because the network is crumbling. Because I've spent twenty years telling myself I was protecting children while I helped destroy them." Selene's voice was barely a whisper. "I want to see my son again. Thomas. My mother raised him, but he's my son. I want to see him before I go to prison."
There was a long silence. Then, in the distance, Eamon heard sirens—the authorities, arriving at the harbor.
"You called them," Selene said.
"Of course I did."
"I know." She almost smiled. "It's what I would have done."
The yacht's engines cut off. Selene Ward walked down the gangplank and stood on the dock, her hands at her sides, waiting. The sirens grew closer. The children slept below deck, unaware of the reckoning that was arriving.
Eamon turned and walked back toward his car. Behind him, the first of the police cruisers pulled onto the dock, their lights flashing in the darkness. Selene Ward raised her hands and began to speak.
The abyss was giving up its dead. But there was still one child left to find. And Eamon Graves was not finished yet.
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