Chapter 12:


    She grabbed Effie’s coat and wrapped the burning child in it. She scooped Effie up into her arms. Effie was five, but she was light—too light—her growth stunted by years of stress and illness.


    Isolde kicked the door open and ran down the hallway. The elevator was too slow. She took the stairs, stumbling down three flights, her bare feet jamming into her sneakers at the bottom.


    The night air hit her like a p. It was raining again, a cold, miserable drizzle that slicked the New York streets.


    She pulled up the Uber app on her personal phone. Her thumb shook as she confirmed the ride.


    A red banner shed across the top of the screen.


    Payment Declined. Please update your payment method.


    He’d done it. He’d actually frozen her cards. Isolde felt a cold fury wash over her, momentarily eclipsing the panic. He had cut her off, leaving her stranded with a dying child.


    “No,” she gasped, her resolve hardening. She shoved the useless phone back into her pocket and pulled out the burner. She navigated to a pre-loaded, encrypted ride-share app, one linked to a ghost ount she hadn’t touched in five years.


    She tapped the screen. A car was three minutes away.


    She ran to the curb. Her arm shot out. A yellow cab was speeding down the avenue, its “Off Duty” light flickering.


    ????e ???????? ??ор???????? n????еls o?? ????l??o????????.??о??


    Isolde stepped into the street, directly into its path.


    The brakes screeched. The car skidded on the wet asphalt, stopping inches from her legs.


    The driver rolled down the window, ready to scream a curse. Then he saw Isolde’s face. He saw the child in her arms, limp and flushed.


    “Mount Sinai,” Isolde said. Her voice was guttural. “Now.”


    The driver didn’t argue. He unlocked the doors.


    Isolde threw herself into the back seat. “Go!”


    The cab surged forward. Isolde pulled Effie onto herp, rocking her back and forth.


    “Stay with me, baby,” she whispered, kissing the hot, damp hair. “Mommy’s got you. Mommy’s here.”


    Five miles away, in the VIP wing of Lenox Hill Hospital, the air smelled ofvender and sanitized wealth.


    Grayson Lancaster sat in a leather recliner, scrolling through emails on his tablet. The room was silent save for the hum of a high-end air purifier.


    In the bed, Kaiden was sleeping soundly. He had a mild stomach bug. He had eaten too much cake and gotten dehydrated. The IV drip was just a precaution, something Belle had insisted on because “nothing is too good for our son.”


    Belle was sitting on the edge of the bed, peeling an apple with a silver knife.


    “The school really needs to check their food suppliers,” she murmured, slicing a piece of fruit. “I’m going to have a word with the headmaster tomorrow.”


    Grayson didn’t look up. “Do that.”


    His phone buzzed on the side table. The screen lit up. Isolde (2 missed calls).


    He frowned. He reached for the phone.


    Belle nced over. Her eyes narrowed slightly.


    .


    .


    .