Jerimiah pushed the heavy wooden door open.

Eleanor sat behind her cluttered desk, flipping through a stack of manila folders.

She looked up. When she saw Jerimiah standing there with Ava trailing behind him, her face twisted into a deep scowl.

"You are not on the appointment list," Eleanor snapped, pointing a manicured finger at the door. "Leave."

Jerimiah didn't move. He slowly pulled a chair out and sat down. He reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulled out a folded, wrinkled application form, and slid it across the desk.

Eleanor pinched the paper between two fingers as if it were covered in disease. She scanned the background information.

"Independent server farm maintenance worker?" Eleanor let out a harsh, mocking laugh.

She dropped the paper. "Do you even have a stable income? Raising a child requires actual money, Mr. Fitzgerald."

Jerimiah pushed his heavy glasses up the bridge of his nose. He stuttered slightly as he recited a perfectly memorized, utterly mundane tax history.

Ava stood beside his chair. She watched him fumble over his words. Her chest loosened slightly. He was a nobody. A weak, powerless man. Exactly what she needed.

Eleanor kept reading. She frowned. "Your credit history is completely blank. No loans. No debt. Nothing. In this day and age, that is highly suspicious."

Jerimiah slumped his shoulders, looking deeply embarrassed. He rubbed the back of his head. "I'm just a tech guy, ma'am. I don't trust banks much."

"And your wife?" Eleanor asked, her tone dripping with disdain.

"She teaches women's self-defense at the community center," Jerimiah mumbled.

Eleanor rolled her eyes. She picked up her heavy red 'REJECTED' stamp. This family was a dead end.

Just as the rubber stamp hovered over the paper, Ava stepped forward. She wrapped both of her small arms tightly around Jerimiah's thick bicep.

Ava tilted her head up. She forced tears to pool in her eyes, letting her lower lip tremble just enough. "I just want this daddy," she whispered, her voice thick with practiced vulnerability.

Eleanor froze. The sheer emotional weight of the broken little girl caught her off guard.

Jerimiah looked down at the girl clinging to him. A brief, almost invisible flicker of amusement flashed in his eyes.

He raised his large hand and awkwardly patted Ava's back, playing the role of the devoted, helpless father.

Out in the hallway, a deep voice echoed. "Check the nurse's station." It was a Savage family bodyguard.

Ava's spine went rigid. Her fingers dug into Jerimiah's arm with bruising force.

Jerimiah felt the spike in her heart rate. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his worn leather wallet. He extracted a crumpled wad of bills of various denominations-twenties, fifties, and a few hundreds, all worn and folded unevenly. He smoothed them out with clumsy fingers, trying to make the messy pile look presentable.

He slid the cash under the application form and pushed it toward Eleanor. "A donation. For the center's good work."

Eleanor's eyes locked onto the green paper. Her demeanor shifted instantly. She slammed the red stamp down on an ink pad, then pressed it firmly onto the approval line.

A loud click echoed in the room. The paperwork was finalized. From this second on, she was Ava Fitzgerald.

Jerimiah stood up. He scooped Ava off the floor with one arm, holding her against his chest, and walked out of the office with long, rapid strides.

He didn't take the main hallway. He pushed through the heavy metal doors of the fire escape, perfectly bypassing the Savage family members entering through the front lobby.

They stepped out into the freezing parking lot. Ava saw a dull gray Dodge minivan parked in the corner.

Jerimiah opened the sliding door. Ava climbed into the back seat. The cheap vanilla air freshener hit her nose, and for the first time in two lifetimes, her muscles completely relaxed.

The Dodge minivan rolled smoothly down a quiet, tree-lined street in suburban Illinois.

Ava pressed her face against the cold window. She watched the neat lawns and white picket fences pass by. The absolute normalcy of it all made her chest ache with relief.

The van turned into a cul-de-sac and pulled into the driveway of a plain, two-story house with a double garage.

Jerimiah turned the key, killing the engine. He looked over his shoulder and gave Ava a goofy, wide smile.

Ava grabbed her small, worn backpack. She stepped out of the van and followed him up the concrete steps to the porch.

Jerimiah slid his key into the deadbolt. Before he could turn it, the front door was violently yanked open from the inside.

A beautiful woman with wavy blonde hair and a floral apron stood in the doorway. It was Carrie.

Carrie's eyes bypassed Jerimiah and locked instantly onto Ava. The air around her seemed to drop ten degrees. Her pupils dilated.

Carrie grabbed Jerimiah by the collar of his flannel shirt. With terrifying, unnatural strength, she jerked the large man into the hallway. Ava couldn't even process the movement.

The front door slammed shut behind Ava. Carrie shoved Jerimiah against the wall, her voice a lethal, low hiss.

"Are you out of your mind?" Carrie snarled, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper that barely carried over the threshold. "You brought an unvetted variable directly to our front door? We don't run a daycare for strays!"

Carrie's right hand instinctively dropped to the deep pocket of her apron. The distinct, sharp outline of a ceramic tactical knife pressed against the fabric.

Ava stood frozen on the welcome mat. The harsh, unwelcoming tone hit her ears. Her backpack slipped from her fingers, hitting the hardwood floor with a loud thud.

Jerimiah threw both hands in the air, pressing himself flat against the wallpaper. "It's an adoption! It's legal!" he hissed back, frantic.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out the stamped paperwork, holding it out like a shield.

Carrie snatched the papers. Her eyes darted across the ink, scanning the signatures and the state seal with mechanical precision.

The second she verified the document, the suffocating, murderous aura vanishing completely.

Carrie spun around. Her face broke into a massive, glowing, overly enthusiastic smile.

She lunged forward. Before Ava could flinch, Carrie wrapped her arms around her, crushing her in a bone-snapping hug.

Ava's face was smashed against Carrie's chest. She couldn't breathe, but the intense, radiating warmth of the woman's body made her stomach flutter.

Carrie cupped Ava's cheeks, kissing her forehead repeatedly. "My sweet little angel!" she cooed, her voice dripping with sugar.

Ava's cheeks burned hot. "Mom," she whispered awkwardly.

Carrie let out a high-pitched squeal of pure joy.

Before she could hug Ava again, a faint, almost imperceptible sound came from the stairs.

Ava looked up. A boy, maybe ten years old, stood on the landing. He had pale skin and pitch-black, dead eyes. He casually tossed a heavy steel ball bearing in his hand, catching it without looking.

Carrie turned. "Cody, come down here and say hello to your sister," she ordered. Her tone was soft, but it carried an edge of absolute authority.

Cody walked down the stairs. His footsteps made zero sound. He stopped in front of Ava, his eyes scanning her from head to toe like a barcode reader.

"Her bone density is below average," Cody stated, his voice entirely devoid of emotion. "She is a liability."

Ava blinked, her mouth falling open. She assumed it was just a weird, mean-kid insult.

Carrie's hand shot out and slapped the back of Cody's head with a loud smack. "Stop analyzing her," Carrie scolded, grabbing Ava's hand and pulling her toward the living room.

The long oak table in the dining room groaned under the weight of a massive American dinner. Platters of roasted ribs, mashed potatoes, and macaroni and cheese steamed in the warm light.

Ava sat rigidly in her chair. She gripped her fork, her mouth watering as she stared at the food.

Carrie aggressively scooped a massive pile of meat onto Ava's plate. "You're too skinny, sweetheart. Eat."

At the head of the table, Jerimiah picked up a long, wicked-looking boning knife. He pressed the blade into the rack of ribs.

Ava watched him. His movements were terrifyingly precise. The blade slid through the meat and separated the joints without making a single scraping sound against the bone.

Ava swallowed hard. The IT guy might look clumsy, but he was surprisingly good in the kitchen.

Across from her, Cody sat perfectly straight. He lifted his fork, chewed exactly twenty times, swallowed, and repeated the motion like a programmed machine.

Desperate to break the heavy silence, Ava cleared her throat. "Do I have other brothers?"

Cody set his fork down. He dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin.

"Gideon is the oldest," Cody recited in his flat, monotone voice. "He is a doctor. He specializes in anatomy and helping people... when their bodies can't be fixed anymore."

Ava nodded slowly. A doctor. That sounded respectable. Safe.

"Collin is the second," Cody continued. "He works for the police department. His primary function is asking questions. He is very good at getting people to tell the truth when they don't want to."

Ava's eyes lit up. A cop. Her new family was practically a fortress of justice.

"Deegan is the third," Cody said. For the first time, a flicker of disgust crossed his face. "He is a neurotic, sickly heir. He lives with our grandfather at the estate. He is a volatile explosive hazard."

Ava pictured a coughing, spoiled rich kid throwing tantrums. She made a mental note to stay out of his way.

Carrie smiled brightly, cutting Cody off as she set a hot apple pie on the table. "We are a very loving family, Ava."

After dinner, Carrie took Ava by the hand and led her upstairs.

Carrie pushed open the door to the bedroom. Ava gasped.

The room was an explosion of high-saturation pink. Pink walls, pink ruffled curtains, and a bed buried under dozens of massive stuffed animals. It was a violent, over-the-top attempt at a princess room.

It was tacky. It was loud. But Ava's throat tightened, and hot tears spilled over her eyelashes. It was hers.

She turned and threw her arms around Carrie's waist. "Thank you," she sobbed.

Carrie's eyes softened completely. She stroked Ava's hair.

An hour later, Ava was asleep. Carrie pulled the pink door shut. The second the latch clicked, the maternal warmth vanished from her face.

Carrie walked down the stairs and headed straight for the basement. She pulled open a heavy, soundproof steel door disguised as a bookshelf.

Inside, Jerimiah sat at a workbench, meticulously cleaning the slide of a Glock 19. Cody sat at a dual-monitor setup, typing lines of encrypted code.

Carrie pulled up a metal folding chair. She crossed her arms over her chest.

"Emergency protocol," Carrie stated, her voice cold and sharp. "From this second forward, everyone in this house is a normal, boring civilian."

She pointed a finger at Jerimiah. "No more clothes smelling like copper and blood in the laundry room."

She turned her glare to Cody. "And you. Stop using sociopathic terminology in front of your sister."

Jerimiah and Cody exchanged a brief look. Facing the absolute, lethal dominance of the family matriarch, both men slowly raised their hands in surrender.