550 Martin Hale had warned her. “Stay away from Claire Whitlock tonight,” the elderly estate steward had whispered to Hannah in the quiet of the service pantry earlier that afternoon. “Sometimes people who need to prove they are powerful choose the person least able to fight back.”

By midnight, the storm outside had worsened, the wind howling through the old gables of the mansion. Dr. Sterling had come and gone, leaving Hannah with a strict order of bed rest and a bottle of herbal extracts to stop the early contractions.

In the dark of the library, Daniel Carver sat behind his massive desk, the light of a single green-shaded lamp illuminating the papers spread before him. Across from him stood Martin Hale, his hands still clasped, his old eyes carrying the weight of fifty years of Carver family secrets.

"The Whitlocks are moving their cargo tonight, sir," Martin said, his voice barely louder than the rain. "Arthur was spotted at Pier 14. He has three trucks lined up, and his men are armed."

"He’s desperate," Daniel murmured, tracing the edge of a glass with his finger. "He knows the moment the union board hears about what Claire did tonight, they will look for an excuse to back out of the shipping alliance. Arthur needs to get that contraband out of the harbor before the feds or my men seize it."

"And the girl, Hannah?" Martin asked. "What of her?"

Daniel stood up, walking to the tall windows that looked out over the distant, blinking lights of the Providence harbor. "Her husband was a good man, Martin. Aaron Brooks didn't belong in our world, but he died because he refused to let Arthur Whitlock use my name to smuggle poison into this city. And Caleb... Caleb is the only one who has the encryption keys to the Whitlocks’ private servers."

"She loves her brother, sir," Martin said softly. "She has survived five months in this house, scrubbing floors with her bare hands, just to find a scrap of paper that would lead her to him. She is stronger than she looks."

"I know," Daniel said, his voice dropping into a quiet, dangerous tone. "That’s why I can't let them touch her again."

Suddenly, the heavy oak doors of the library swung open.

Hannah stood in the doorway, wearing a simple, oversized flannel shirt that belonged to Daniel, her short, ruined hair framing her pale face. Her eyes were bright with a fierce, desperate determination.

"Let me go with you," she said, her voice steady despite her trembling hands.

Daniel turned, his brows snapping together. "No. You are in no condition to leave this room, let alone go to the docks."

"They have Caleb," Hannah said, taking a step into the room, her hand resting on her stomach. "I know they do. Aaron always told me that if anything happened to him, Caleb would go to the old salt house at the end of Pier 14. He used to play there when we were kids. If Caleb is hiding, he’s there. And the Whitlocks will find him before you do if you don't let me guide you."