"Clare thought she had hired a fake boyfriend for one night—until a mysterious photograph revealed Vincent knew something about her missing brother. "

"DOWN!" Daniel’s voice echoed down through the shattered skylight, sharp and commanding.

He fired two more rapid shots through the opening. The rounds struck the concrete floor near Vance's surviving mercenaries, sending lethal stone fragments flying into their faces and forcing them to dive for cover behind the outer wall.

In the chaos, Vincent didn't hesitate. Despite the bleeding wound in his side, he lunged backward into the server room, grabbed Clare by her collar, and hauled her down into the open storm drain shaft.

"Down! Now!" Vincent gritted out, his teeth coated in blood.

They fell into the pitch-black shaft, sliding down fifteen feet of wet, slime-coated steel ladder before plunging into knee-deep, freezing seawater rushing through a concrete culvert beneath the house.

The sound of the roaring ocean echoed violently through the tunnel. Above them, heavy gunfire continued to shatter the Victorian house as Daniel’s sniper positions traded fire with Vance's breach squad.

"This way!" Vincent rasped, stumbling through the rushing tide, clutching his bleeding ribs with one hand while keeping his pistol raised with the other.

Clare splashed beside him, holding his arm to keep him upright. "Daniel... Daniel was on the roof! He saved us!"

"Daniel didn't save us," Vincent growled through gritted teeth, his breath coming in ragged, painful gasps as they moved deeper into the dark culvert. "He used Vance's attack as a distraction to get access to the server core. He wants the primary access codes."

"He's my brother, Vincent!" Clare shouted over the roar of the water.

"He's a operative who spent three years playing both sides of a syndicate war!" Vincent snapped back, stopping against the wet concrete wall of the tunnel as his legs buckled beneath him. He slid down into the cold water, his head resting against the rough stone.

"Vincent!" Clare dropped to her knees beside him, pulling his head out of the water.

The pale moonlight filtering through the outlet grate at the end of the tunnel showed his face turned a waxy, terrifying grey. The blood from his side was washing away in the salt water, curling into red ribbons around them.

"The... the drive..." Vincent whispered, his fingers feebly catching her wrist. "You... have to destroy it..."

"Shut up!" Clare sobbed, ripping a thick strip of fabric from her fleece sweater and pressing it hard against the bleeding puncture wound in his torso. "Shut up and help me stand you up!"

"Clare..."

A shadow fell over the entrance of the sea culvert.

Clare looked up, her heart stopping in her chest.

Standing at the mouth of the tunnel—framed against the churning white waves of the high tide—was a man carrying a heavy tactical rifle.

He stepped slowly through the cold sea foam, his boots sloshing through the water until he stood three feet away from them.

He lowered the rifle, resting the barrel against his leg.

He was thinner than she remembered. His skin was tanned and weather-beaten, a faint line of silver scars running across his cheekbone. But his eyes—the clear, dark brown eyes that had looked at her across a hundred childhood dinner tables—were unchanged.

"Hello, Little Bird," Daniel said quietly, using her childhood nickname.

Clare stared at him, her chest heaving, the strip of fleece still pressed against Vincent's bleeding side. "Daniel..."

Daniel looked down at Vincent, who was staring up at him with pure, unadulterated hatred through his half-closed eyes.

"You look terrible, Hale," Daniel said softly.

"Shoot him, Clare..." Vincent rasped, his hand feebly trying to raise his pistol from the water. "Shoot him now..."

Daniel ignored Vincent. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a heavy, military-grade medical kit, and tossed it into the water near Clare's knees.

"Plug his side before he goes into hypothermic shock," Daniel said calmly. "The round missed his kidney, but his intercostal artery is nicked. He has about six minutes before his lungs fill with fluid."

Clare looked from the medical kit to her brother's face. "Why did you do this, Daniel? Why did you disappear? Why did you leave us?"

Daniel’s face tightened with an old, crushing grief. He took a slow step closer, kneeling in the cold water opposite her.

"Because if I hadn't gone into the water three years ago, Vance would have killed you and Mom in your sleep," Daniel whispered, his voice trembling with a raw, intense sincerity. "I took twenty-four million dollars from Vance's private ledger to force his brother into a corner. I didn't know Vance was going to put the neural drive into Vincent."

"You let his sister suffer!" Clare cried, her voice echoing off the concrete vault.

Daniel looked down at his silver signet ring. "I extracted his sister twenty minutes before Vance's men reached her apartment, Clare. She's living under a secured witness protection profile in New Zealand. I sent Vincent the proof six months ago, but his handler deleted the messages to keep him hunting me."

Vincent’s eyes widened slightly in the dark. "What...?"

"Marcus Vance was playing you, Vincent," Daniel said, looking directly into Vincent's eyes. "He wanted you to kill me so the neural drive’s safety override would dissolve. As long as I'm alive, the encryption key under your collarbone stays locked."

Daniel extended his right hand toward Clare.

"Give me the USB drive, Clare," Daniel begged softly. "I can upload the override code right now, wipe the server signatures, and disable the tracker in his chest forever. We can end this tonight."