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I exhaled slowly, forcing the memory back where it belonged before it could drag me further into the pits of hell.

“You’re joking, right? Sissy, no.”

Anger, hot and immediate, surged through me as I looked at the Counselor. It was sharp enough to blur everything else out. A split-second betrayal hit before I could rein it in.

“Wait a second, you fucking knew along, didn’t you?” I exclaimed, directing the last part at Marcel.

When I glanced back at her, I saw it. Her expression had shifted, and her eyes flickered, glassy now, confirming every reason she’d hesitated to share with me in the first place.

“Of course I did. She’s my patient after all. Now you will sit your ass back down and hear her out. This demands nothing less than our unwavering support and understanding,” Marcel hissed.

I recoiled, caught off guard by the force behind it. The command in his tone cut through my reaction before it could escalate any further. My jaw locked, but I didn’t speak.

“I have to do this,” Isabella said. “For healing, closure, for…so much more…”

Credit where credit was due. Her voice hadn’t broken yet, but her eyes? Those were a different story. It was insane how alike ours were. And the look in them wasn’t something I could ignore because I’d seen the same thing reflected in my own too many times.

Pain shone bright. Even after all these years, it hadn’t dulled. It was rooted deeper. Fear sat right alongside it. That was somehow more insidious. It was haunting in every way. And underneath it all was another thing we shared.

Resolve.

My baby sister had it in abundance. She was never reckless or impulsive. Another thing we had in common.

“The darkness I—we endured. I need to be free from it.” A sharp breath shuddered through her, uneven and strained. “I need to confront it head on. For two years I was forced to paint and draw.” She cleared her throat twice, words tangling somewhere behind the emotion. “Do you know how many days that was? How much art work I produced? Do you?”

All around me bodies shifted as her question hung in the air. My heart drummed.

Finally, Ivan spoke. “No, Bellarusso, we don’t. Please tell us.”

She took several deep breaths and started again. “Roughly one hundred and eighty days solid. What if they are still sitting in that underground hell-hole? Pieces of me are still there. I painted the girls. Kinsley, Tori, and…Winter.”

The room shifted once more. Alek went still beside me before he immediately sought Nik’s gaze. Nik’s usual ease had disappeared, his focus sharpening. Silent messages sent between the twins. I’d seen it a thousand times in our lives.

Ivan leaned back slightly, glass untouched in his hand, but his attention was locked on Isabella. I could read them clearly. The thought of Kinsley—any version of her—especially of her as a child trapped in that place, even if was only canvas, sat wrong with all of them.

It sat wrong with me too. But was this the answer? Wouldn’t it be better for us to tackle this?

Isabella continued on, “What if we never find her? Winter? What if all we ever get of her are those paintings? I know you can’t understand…” Her voice trailed off, and the tears she tried to keep at bay rushed down her cheeks.

I watched them fall, my core tightening with every second I stayed quiet. But words wouldn’t form.

“I love you Sebastian, with my whole heart. But I’m doing this and Nik has already done the leg work for me.”

Heat climbed fast, sharp enough to make it hard to stay seated. I pushed back from the chair, the legs scarping against the floor as I stood. A restless energy took over, pacing a few steps before turning back toward the screen, back toward them.

“You told Nik? Of course you fucking did,” I muttered, dragging a hand through my hair. My eyes found Pasha’s, and guilt radiated from him.

“Let me guess? You’ve known all along, too. Probably fucking encouraged it, huh?” The words came out harder than I intended.

“I didn’t actually,” Pasha said. “Just found out an hour ago.”

That did little to settle the rage—the betrayal. I let out a rough breath and crossed to the table, grabbing the bottle Ivan had brought out earlier. I didn’t bother with the glass this time. I took a long pull straight from it. The burn from the alcohol did nothing to settle what was building under my skin.

My fucking friends. My crew. My Goddamned Brothers.

I turned on Nik, raising the bottle in my hand and pointing it at him. “How long have you known, Crow?”

“I’ve known since before she left,” he said, fixing his cuffs. “I will always be here for our girls. In whatever they need.”