I came home after five years with a prosthetic leg, but my mother’s first question wasn’t whether I was okay—it was whether I could still play piano.

"Did you really think I would drive that SUV myself, Julian?" Eleanor said, stepping onto the wooden planking of the boathouse. Her black coat was dry, her hair unruffled. "I have people to handle the dirty work for me."

Marcus stepped forward, his eyes cold and unblinking, his heavy military frame blocking the only exit.

"Hand over the envelope, Julian," Marcus commanded, his voice devoid of all emotion. "And step away from the girl."

I held the manila envelope tightly against my ribs, feeling the thick stack of documents inside—the evidence that cost five years of my life, my leg, and my father's sanity.

"It's over, Mother," I said, my voice echoing off the dark water beneath the floorboards. "The police know I came home. The state prosecutor already has the digital copies of the sheet music cipher."

Eleanor smiled—a chilling, predatory expression. "The state prosecutor is a personal friend of mine, Julian. By tomorrow morning, the news will report that a tragic fire caught the old Vance lake house. Two bodies recovered. An unfortunate accident caused by a faulty heater."

She gestured to Marcus. "Burn the boathouse."

Marcus pulled a heavy flare gun from his tactical vest, popping the latch and loading a bright red incendiary cartridge.

"Wait!" Emma shouted, stepping in front of me. "Mrs. Vance, please! Take the evidence! Just let us go! We won't say anything!"

"You've already said too much, child," Eleanor dismissed indifferently. "Just like your father."

Marcus raised the flare gun toward the gasoline cans stacked near the boat slip.

I knew that if that incendiary flare hit those cans, the entire timber structure would erupt into a firestorm in seconds. There would be no escape.

I looked down at the floorboards beneath my feet.

The boathouse was built over three feet of freezing lake water. The wooden planks were old, rotted by decades of damp air and winter frost.

I looked at Emma, giving her a quick, subtle nod toward the water.

"Mother," I called out loudly, taking a step toward her. "If you're going to kill me, at least look me in the eye when you do it."

Eleanor raised her head slightly, her blue eyes locking onto mine with arrogant contempt. "You were always a disappointment, Julian. You had your father's weak heart."

"No," I said, my prosthetic heel stepping heavily onto the weakest floorboard near the boat slip. "I have my father's drive."

I threw my entire body weight into a violent, downward stamp of my titanium leg.

CRACK!

The rotted oak beam beneath us shattered with the force of an explosion. The floor section collapsed instantly, sending a cascade of timber, stone, and iron crashing down into the dark water below.

Marcus lost his balance, his leg falling through the gaping hole in the deck. The flare gun discharged prematurely, the burning red projectile hitting the stone wall above us, filling the air with thick, acrid smoke.