I didn't sleep.
That wasn't unusual after nights like this, but this time it wasn't adrenaline keeping me awake. It was the quiet. The kind that presses against your ears until you start hearing things that aren't there.
I lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling, replaying every second of the evening like it might change if I examined it closely enough.
It never did.
I haven't been able to contact my Mom since we scheduled me and Sienna's marriage.
I recently contacted Mateo to tell Mom I was fine I was still busy with Sienna so I would not be able to contact or see them for a while of course I didn't tell him that.
Sienna had crossed a line tonight. Not a moral one. Not even a dangerous one. She had crossed the line between preparation and execution.
Between planning a storm and choosing where it would make landfall. And once that line was crossed, there was no going back to the version of her life where this was all hypothetical.
She knew that.
I knew that.
And still, I hadn't tried to stop her.
The rain outside softened sometime around dawn, fading into a fine mist that clung to the windows like breath. I sat up and rubbed my hands over my face, grounding myself in the present.
The city was waking up. Somewhere, people were making coffee, checking phones, complaining about traffic. Normal life continued, blissfully ignorant of the shift that had occurred beneath its feet.
Sienna was already awake.
She stood at the counter, hair loose now, sleeves rolled up, scrolling through data on her tablet while the kettle heated. Calm.Centered.
As if she hadn't dismantled two carefully constructed lives with nothing but her presence.
"You look awful," she said without looking at me.
"Good morning to you too," I replied.
She smirked faintly. "Did you sleep?"
"No."
"Thought so."
She poured hot water into two mugs and slid one across the counter toward me. I took it, wrapping my hands around the ceramic, grateful for the warmth.
She finally looked up then, eyes scanning my face, assessing. She always did that in the mornings, checking for cracks she might have caused.
"I'm fine," I said before she could ask.
She studied me a moment longer, then nodded. "I know."
That was the thing about her. She didn't need reassurance. She needed honesty. And she could always tell the difference.
"Mrs. Hart tried to call," she said, casual.
I raised an eyebrow. "And?"
"I let it ring."
"Good."
She took a sip of her tea, gaze distant. "Mr. Hart didn't."
I felt a flicker of something cold settle in my chest. "No?"
"No," she repeated. "He's afraid to say the wrong thing."
Smart man. Too late, but smart.
"Fear makes people sloppy," I said.
"Eventually," she agreed. "Right now, it's keeping him still."
She set the mug down and turned toward the window. Morning light painted her in pale gold, softening the sharp edges without dulling them.
She looked… lighter. Not relieved. Not healed. But aligned, like something heavy had finally been set down.
"You didn't ask me to stop," she said quietly.
I met her gaze. "You didn't need me to."
She exhaled, slow and measured. "I think part of me expected you to."
"Would you have listened?"
She considered it. Then shook her head.
"No."
"Then I would've just gotten in your way."
A corner of her mouth lifted. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For standing where you always do," she said. "Beside me."
The word settled between us, heavy with meaning. I hadn't always been there. Not at the beginning. Not when she was still learning how to survive the cage they'd built for her. But I was here now. And I would stay.
Her tablet chimed softly.
She glanced down, eyes narrowing slightly. "They're already moving funds."
"Of course they are," I said. "Trying to create distance."
"They don't understand," she replied.
"Distance doesn't protect you from someone who knows where you started."
I leaned against the counter. "What's next?"
She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she walked back to the table and spread out several documents, photographs, and timelines with careful precision.
Names I recognized. A few I didn't. Patterns began to emerge the longer I looked.
"You're not just going after them," I said slowly.
"No," she agreed. "They were never alone."
I felt a familiar tension coil in my chest.
"This gets bigger."
"It already is," she said. "I just stopped pretending it wasn't."
She pointed to a name circled in red. "This is who signed off on the original transfer."
I followed her finger. My jaw tightened.
"That man is protected."
"Everyone thinks they are," she replied.
I watched her for a long moment. "You're sure about this?"
She met my gaze, steady and unflinching.
"I've never been more sure of anything."
There was no rage in her eyes. No recklessness. Just clarity. The kind that scared people far more than anger ever could.
"Then we do it clean," I said. "Slow. Methodical."
She smiled. "I knew you'd say that."
Outside, the city was fully awake now. Traffic hummed. Sirens wailed distantly. Life moved on.
But beneath it, something had shifted, a subtle recalibration that would ripple outward in ways no one could predict.
Sienna gathered the papers and stacked them neatly. "They think this is about exposure," she said. "They think I want to ruin them."
"And you don't?" I asked.
"I want them to live with what they did," she replied. "Every day. In every choice. I want them to understand that survival doesn't erase consequences."
I nodded slowly. "That's worse."
She looked almost amused. "Exactly."
Her phone buzzed again. She ignored it.
"You know," I said, "once we take the next step, they won't just be afraid."
"They'll be desperate," she finished.
"And desperate people make dangerous choices."
She stepped closer to me then, close enough that I could feel the warmth of her presence. "That's why I need you," she said quietly. "Not to stop me. To see what they can't. To catch what I miss."
I didn't hesitate. "I'm here."
She held my gaze for a long moment, something unspoken passing between us. Trust. Resolve. A shared understanding that whatever came next, it would change us both.
"Then let's get to work," she said.
As she turned back to the table, fingers already moving, I felt it settle in my bones. The certainty. The inevitability. This wasn't a spiral into darkness.
It was a controlled descent, guided by someone who had learned every contour of the fall.
I took my place beside her, not as a shield, not as a leash, but as a witness and a constant. The storm had direction now, and I would help ensure it struck exactly where it needed to.
Because this wasn't about revenge.
It was about truth catching up.
And no one outruns that forever.