“Lord, You who see all, have mercy on me, a sinner unworthy of grace. I have

  built walls of gold but left my sons in ruin. I gave them everything—yet perhaps,

  nothing at all.”

  “Forgive me, Father, for the legacy of pride and envy I have sown. If justice must

  come, let it fall on me alone. But I fear it is too late. The hands of men will judge

  me before You do.”

  “If this is my final night, I ask not for deliverance, but for understanding. See my

  heart, my regret. Grant me peace beyond the sins I cannot undo.”

  “In the name of the Son, who bore all suffering, I surrender my soul. Thy will be

  done. Amen.”

  The church was empty. Pretty unusual for the church to be complete‐

  ly empty, on a Thursday, except for one man. He knelt before the

  holy cross, his hands joined together, his eyes closed. He let out a final

  sigh and got on his feet and left the church.

  His phone rang. No name. But his face showed that he knew who was

  on the other end. He picked up the call.

  “Hello… yes I have left… I will be there in five minutes… No, I’m

  coming alone… yes I have it… no, I swear, I didn’t tell a soul… yeah”

  The other end disconnected.

  ***

  September 30, Saturday

  May stood restlessly, her back leaning against the cold wall outside the critical care unit. That was the sixth—by far the most terrifying seizure her daughter had suffered. Her legs felt weak, her hands clammy from the lingering fear. She had seen Faye convulsing on that hospital bed, her small body jerking violently, her fingers twisting unnaturally. The machines had blared their alarms, the nurses had rushed in, and May had been forced to stand helplessly as they fought to stabilise her little girl.

  Now, she waited for Cynthia. The wait was unbearable. Her face was stiff from dried-up tears, dark bags clung under her swolleneyes, and a dull pain throbbed in her temple. A few bruises marked her cheek, though, compared to what her daughter had suffered, they were nothing.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Faye, only four years old, had barely survived after being hit by a speeding car. The trauma had been devastating—a traumatic brain injury, a subdural hematoma. The doctors had told her she was lucky Faye had even made it through surgery that night. But the complications hadn’t stopped. The swelling in her brain had worsened, and the post-traumatic epilepsy had made things even harder. May’s heart broke every time she saw her baby wailing, her tiny hands clutching at her head, unable to understand why the pain wouldn’t stop.

  A metallic creak sounded as the door to the ICU opened. May’s body tensed. Cynthia finally stepped out, her expression calm but unreadable. May rushed toward her, barely able to breathe.

  “Cynthia, how’s Faye?” she asked, her voice raw.

  Cynthia sighed. “She’s stable for now. But, May, listen to me. She needs the surgery. We can’t keep holding her here. You need to take her to Seattle as soon as possible.”

  May exhaled shakily, pressing her fingers against her forehead.“I’m arranging it, but this stay—” she gestured vaguely at the hospital around her “—the past month has used up all the health insurance. There’s barely anything left.”

  “I told you, I’ll help where I can,” Cynthia said firmly. “But youneed to figure out the rest. Fast.” She glanced at her watch. “I have to check on another patient. Think about what I said, May.”

  She turned and walked toward her office, leaving May standing there, stomach twisting.

  A sudden voice from the waiting room caught her attention.

  “… and following the sudden deaths of Mathias Moore and his younger son, Rictus Moore, the Moore family has announced afive- million-dollar prize for the person who catches the culprit…”

  May’s eyes snapped to the TV screen mounted on the wall. Thenews anchor was speaking in a measured tone, the headline flashing in bold letters beneath him. A five-million-dollar reward.

  Her fingers tightened around the phone in her pocket. She dialed.

  The call was picked up instantly. “Yes, May?”

  “Damian,” she started, her voice tense, “This Moore family prize… is it legit?”

  A pause. Then he spoke. “Seems so. The big shots are going crazy in here.”

  Detective Damian Walsh. had been with the Lake Forest Police Department’s Major Crimes Unit for over a decade. He was her brother— the person she trusted more than anyone.

  “I was thinking…” she hesitated for a moment, then pressedforward. “If I got the prize money… it would be enough for Faye’ssurgery.”

  Damian didn’t answer immediately. But she could hear the shift in his breathing. He understood. “May,” he said slowly, “this is dangerous. You know that, right?”

  “I know.”

  “There are people way more experienced than you on this case. And people who are way more desperate. You have no idea what you’re getting into.”

  May swallowed. She knew. But what choice did she have?

  “Okay,” Damian sighed. “But listen to me. If?you do anything reckless, I won’t be able to cover for you.”

  “Don’t worry,” she murmured. “I’ll be careful.” Lying came soeasily.

  She ended the call, exhaling shakily. Then, she turned back toward the ICU doors, staring through the glass at her daughter’s fragile form.

  For Faye, she would do anything.

  Even if it meant chasing down a killer!