Chapter 52

Elias turned his laptop back toward himself as I slid into the seat beside him this time, our shoulders nearly touching. A stale coffee sat ignored between us, the bitter scent clinging to the air. The low jazz music from the speakers was the only sign this place wasn't entirely dead.

"You really think she's still alive?" I asked, eyes flicking to the screen. "The daughter?"

"I don't think," Elias muttered. "I know. Grayson wouldn't destroy something tied to his legacy. He'd hide her. Mold her. Control her."

I swallowed hard. "That's what he tried to do with me."

He glanced at me briefly, then opened a secure file labeled Project Aster. A black-and-white image popped up—a faded birth certificate, half-redacted. But one name stood out: Aster Winter Grayson.

"She was born two weeks after Lillian vanished," Elias said. "The birth was registered under a private hospital in upstate New York. Paper trail stops there."

"Aster?" I whispered. "He named her after stars?"

"He's obsessed with symbolism. Stars, control, bloodlines." He pulled up another tab—this one a blueprint. "This is a layout of one of Grayson's private estates. Somewhere quiet. Rural. Heavy surveillance. It hasn't been touched in years, according to the documents. Could be a front. Or a vault."

I stared at the floorplan. "If she's there, we're not walking in without a plan."

Elias nodded. "We won't. But first, we need confirmation she's even alive. I started tracking school records from the last known location. Cross-referencing children with similar birthdates, foster programs, even adoption papers."

"You're doing all of this alone?"

He gave a bitter laugh. "Do you see anyone else crazy enough to take Grayson on?"

I tapped a file labeled Rose Surveillance.

"What's this?"

"Grayson's florist," Elias said. "One of the few people he talks to regularly. Pays in cash. Custom blue roses. I pulled footage from a shop cam two days ago. Guess who he was asking about?"

The video opened. There Grayson was—tall, calm, in a crisp black coat—leaning on the counter.

"Do you still have the same dye for the blue roses?" he asked the florist.

"For a special occasion?" the woman teased.

His response chilled me.

"No," he said, smiling faintly. "For someone who thinks I've forgotten her."

I gripped the edge of the table.

"He's not backing off," I whispered.

"He's waiting," Elias replied. "He likes the slow game."

"Well, screw that," I said, opening a new browser tab. "We're done playing his game. We find Aster. We find the truth. We expose him."

Elias stared at me for a long moment. "You're not just trying to beat him anymore, are you?"

"No," I said quietly. "I want to save whatever's left of the lives he's tried to ruin."

He nodded once, then slid his laptop toward me. "Then let's find her."

And for the next few hours—until the first hints of dawn crept across the sky—we hunted ghosts in the code, pieced together lies, followed the cracks in Grayson's perfect mask.

We weren't sure where the trail would lead.

But we were following it together.

And for the first time in a long time... I didn't feel so alone.