“There is no record of Isabella giving birth five years ago.”

Elena released a shaky breath.

“Then it’s fake.”

Marco continued.

“But there’s something else.”

“What?”

“Saint Catherine’s Hospital closed its maternity ward six years ago.”

I stared at Elena.

She stared back at me.

“So Sophie couldn’t have been born there,” Marco said.

Elena began crying silently.

“No. My paperwork says—”

“Your paperwork is false.”

“No.”

Sophie was fully awake now.

She looked from Elena to me.

“Why are you sad?”

Elena pressed her forehead against Sophie’s.

“I’m not sad.”

“Yes, you are.”

Sophie touched Elena’s cheek.

“Don’t cry.”

Elena kissed her hand.

“I’m okay.”

My phone vibrated again.

One final message.

This time, a video.

I opened it.

Isabella appeared on the screen.

No timestamp.

No visible background.

Only her face.

“Adrien.”

She looked directly into the camera.

“If Sophie is with you when you receive this, do not let anyone separate her from Elena.”

Elena made a broken sound.

Isabella continued.

“I know what the records will make you believe.”

My heart seemed to stop.

“But Sophie is not my daughter.”

Relief passed through Elena so strongly she almost laughed.

Then Isabella said:

“She is your sister.”

The vehicle seemed to stop moving even though the road continued beneath us.

I couldn’t breathe.

Elena stared at me.

Sophie looked between us, confused.

Isabella’s face remained on the screen.

“Your father hid one child from the world before he disappeared.”

A pause.

“And Adrien…”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“He did it because Sophie is the only living person who can open the final archive.”

The video ended.

Nobody spoke.

Snow continued falling beyond the windows.

Sophie looked at me with wide, sleepy eyes.

Then at Elena.

Then back at me.

“Mr. Adrien?”

My throat tightened.

“Yes?”

She extended her small hand.

“Are you scared again?”

I looked down at her hand.

At the child I had believed belonged only to Elena.

At the little girl who had heard a sound no adult could detect.

Who had discovered Isabella’s message.

Who could open doors nobody knew existed.

And who, if Isabella was telling the truth, shared my father’s blood.

I took her hand.

“Yes,” I said.

This time, I didn’t lie.

Sophie squeezed my fingers.

“That’s okay.”

Ahead of us, Marco’s vehicle turned onto the dark road leading toward Isabella’s farmhouse.

And somewhere beneath that farmhouse waited a hidden room carrying my mother’s name.

A room that, according to a wife who had returned from the dead, only my four-year-old sister could open.

Then Marco’s voice came sharply over the radio.

“Boss.”

The headlights of his SUV stopped.

I looked ahead.

A figure stood in the middle of the snow-covered road.

A woman.

Dark coat.

Dark hair moving in the wind.

She raised one hand toward us.

Even from fifty yards away, I recognized her.

My heart forgot how to beat.

Isabella.

Alive.

Waiting for us.

But she wasn’t alone.

Behind her stood a young man holding a lantern.

Luca.

And behind Luca, partly hidden by the falling snow, stood an older woman whose face I had not seen since I was fourteen years old.

My mother.