The customs officer offered a tight, synthetic smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Ma'am, I'm going to need you to step into the waiting area. The system is... rebooting."

Annelise felt the blood drain from her face. It wasn't a reboot. It was a stall tactic.

Beside her, Algernon adjusted his glasses. They were slightly too big for his face, sliding down his nose. He looked like a miniature, concerned accountant. He glanced up at the officer, then down at the digital watch on his left wrist.

It wasn't a normal watch. It was a Frankenstein device he had built from scrap parts and a stolen smartphone processor back in London.

Algernon tapped the screen. His small fingers moved in a blur.

Accessing Port Authority Network... Bypassing Firewall... Triggering false security alert, Terminal 4.

Suddenly, the overhead speakers crackled with a deafening screech of static.

Attention all personnel! A stern, official voice boomed through the hall. "Security breach reported in Terminal 4, Sector Gamma. All available agents respond immediately."

The lights in the customs hall flickered violently. The computer screen in front of the officer went black, then flashed a bright, neon green smiley face before resetting to the default "ACCESS GRANTED" screen.

The officer stared at the monitor, bewildered. He tapped the keys. Nothing worked except the "Approve" function.

I... uh... The officer looked at the chaotic line forming behind Annelise. He saw other officers starting to move toward the exit, responding to the alert. "Go ahead. Just go. The system cleared you."

He stamped the passports hurriedly, desperate to get them out of his face so he could deal with the malfunction.

Annelise didn't question the miracle. She grabbed the passports. "Thank you."

She ushered the kids through the gate, walking fast. As they passed the barrier, she glanced down at Algernon. He was innocent, looking around at the ceiling tiles, but the corner of his mouth was quirked up in a tiny, satisfied smirk.

Algernon, she whispered warningly.

The firewall was rudimentary, Mother, he murmured back. "It was offensive to my intelligence."

Annelise let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. They were through. They were legally in the United States.

They reached the baggage claim, retrieved their two battered suitcases, and pushed through the sliding glass doors into the Arrivals Hall.

The noise hit them like a physical wave. A wall of people, signs, shouting taxi drivers, and the chaotic energy of New York.

Taxi line is that way, Annelise said, pointing to the right.

Wait. Clemie stopped dead in her tracks. She dropped her teddy bear by one arm and pointed a shaking finger at a metal trash can near a pillar about twenty feet away.

Clemie, come on, Annelise urged, trying to pull her.

No, Mommy! Clemie plugged her nose. "Hot! It smells hot! Like... like the batteries Blace melts!"

Blace's ears perked up. He broke formation and darted toward the trash can.

Blace! Get back here! Annelise hissed.

Blace ignored her. He leaned in, sniffed the air like a bloodhound, and grinned. "Lithium ion thermal runaway," he announced loudly. "Cool!"

A split second later, a popping sound came from the bin. Thick white smoke began to billow out, followed by a sudden flare of orange flame. Someone had thrown a faulty power bank into the trash.

Fire! someone screamed.

Panic rippled through the crowd. People scrambled away from the trash can.

See? Clemie said proudly, picking up her bear. "I told you."

Annelise's heart was hammering. "Okay, okay, you were right. Now let's use the distraction to get a cab."

She knelt down, grabbing Blace by the back of his shirt and pulling him back to the group. "Listen to me. All of you. No hacking. No sniffing out fires. No fighting. We are invisible. We are mice. Understand?"

I don't want to be a mouse, Blace grumbled. "I want to be a tiger."

Be a mouse or we go to jail, Annelise said sternly.

Look out! Algernon warned, pulling Annelise back.

A wall of flashing lights blinded them.

A phalanx of photographers was moving backward, snapping pictures aggressively. In the center of the storm was a woman who looked like she had stepped out of a magazine cover.

Jenelle Santiago.

She was wearing six-inch stiletto heels, white skinny jeans, and a fur vest that probably cost more than Annelise's entire life earnings. She was walking with her chin high, talking loudly into a phone, ignoring the peasants around her.

I know, Archie is waiting in the car, Jenelle was saying, her voice shrill. "Make sure you get my good side when he eventually gets out."

The crowd of paparazzi forced Annelise and the kids against the wall.

Move it! a bodyguard in a black suit shouted, shoving a bystander aside.

Clemie, disoriented by the flashing lights, stumbled. Her small rolling suitcase tipped over and slid right into Jenelle's path.

Jenelle stopped. She looked down at the cheap, pink plastic suitcase with disdain. Then her eyes moved to Clemie.

Watch where you're going, you little brat, Jenelle snapped.

Annelise froze. The mother lion in her chest woke up and roared.

Clemie shrank back, her lip trembling. "I'm sorry..."

Jenelle rolled her eyes. "Where are your parents? letting vermin run loose in the airport..." She raised her foot and kicked the pink suitcase aside. It skidded across the floor and hit the wall with a crack.

That was it.

Blace let out a low growl. His fists clenched at his sides.

Algernon stepped back into the shadow of a pillar, tapping his watch again. Disabling local security cameras... Now.

Jenelle reached out, her long, manicured fingernails aiming to push Clemie out of her personal space.

Move, Jenelle hissed.

Her hand never made contact.

Annelise moved faster than she ever thought possible. She intercepted the strike, her hand clamping around Jenelle's wrist like a vice.

Jenelle gasped, shocked. She looked up, meeting Annelise's eyes.

Annelise wasn't the scared girl from the hotel room anymore. Her eyes were cold, hard flint.

Don't, Annelise said, her voice low and dangerous. "Touch. My. Daughter."

---

Jenelle let out a high-pitched shriek, twisting her arm in Annelise's grip.

Let go of me! You crazy bitch! Assault! Help!

The paparazzi went wild. This was better than a fashion shot. This was a catfight. The flashes turned into a strobe light effect, blinding and disorienting.

Get her off me! Jenelle screamed at her bodyguards.

Two massive men in suits stepped forward, their hands reaching for Annelise.

Mom! Blace yelled, stepping in front of Annelise.

Annelise realized the danger instantly. She shoved Jenelle away, sending the woman stumbling back in her high heels.

Run, Annelise ordered the kids.

She scooped Clemie up into her arms, grabbed the handle of the rolling bag, and bolted toward the nearest exit-a corridor leading to the restrooms.

Get them! Jenelle screeched behind them. "Don't let them get away! I want them arrested!"

Annelise sprinted down the hallway, her breath tearing at her throat. She ducked into the alcove leading to the family restroom. It was a dead end, but it offered momentary cover.

She put Clemie down. The little girl was sobbing, her face buried in the teddy bear.

It's okay, shh, it's okay, Annelise panted, wiping sweat from her forehead. Her hands were shaking. Adrenaline was flooding her system, making her knees weak.

I need... I need a second, Annelise gasped. She felt sick. The confrontation had brought back too many memories of being powerless. She pointed to the restroom door. "I'm going to wash my face. Stay right here. Do not move. Algernon, watch the door."

Algernon nodded. "The camera angle here is blind. We are unobserved."

Good. Give me ten seconds.

Annelise pushed into the restroom, splashing cold water on her face, trying to stop the world from spinning.

Outside in the hallway, the triplets stood in a defensive triangle.

Jenelle rounded the corner. She had shaken off the press but brought her two bodyguards. Her face was twisted in an ugly sneer.

She saw the three children standing alone.

Well, well, Jenelle said, smoothing her fur vest. "Mommy left you? Coward."

She walked up to them, looming over Clemie. "You ruined my shot, you little rat."

Jenelle raised her foot and stomped hard on Clemie's teddy bear, grinding the heel of her stiletto into the fabric.

Clemie screamed.

Blace didn't say a word. His eyes went dark, the pupils dilating until the blue was almost gone.

He reached into the pocket of his cargo shorts. He pulled out a large, heavy glass marble. It was a "steelie"-a ball bearing encased in glass.

Hey, lady, Blace said.

Jenelle looked up. "What?"

Blace flicked his thumb.

The marble flew through the air with terrifying velocity. It struck Jenelle squarely on the kneecap, right on the sensitive nerve cluster.

Crack.

Jenelle's scream was bloodcurdling. Her leg buckled instantly, and she collapsed to the floor, clutching her knee.

My leg! You broke my leg!

The bodyguards lunged. "You little-"

Blace didn't retreat. As the first bodyguard reached for him, Blace dropped to the ground, sliding between the man's legs like a baseball player stealing home.

As he slid, he pulled a small paper packet from his other pocket and clapped his hands together.

A cloud of fine, white powder exploded into the air.

It was a mixture of ground white pepper and dried chili flakes-Clemie's special "bad dog" recipe.

The bodyguards inhaled it.

Instantly, they were incapacitated. They doubled over, coughing violently, tears streaming down their faces, sneezing uncontrollably.

My eyes! I can't see! one of them yelled.

Blace stood up, dusted off his knees, and looked down at Jenelle, who was writhing on the floor.

Don't touch the bear, Blace said calmly. He picked up the dirty teddy bear, dusted it off, and handed it back to a stunned Clemie.

Apologize, Blace demanded of Jenelle.

I'm going to kill you! Jenelle sobbed.

Wrong answer. Blace reached into his pocket again.

Just then, heavy footsteps echoed from the main terminal. The sound of expensive leather shoes hitting the tile with authority.

But the footsteps weren't coming closer. They were outside, by the curb. A car door slammed shut with a heavy, final thud.

Someone was here. Someone who didn't need to enter the building to command it.

---

Inside the Rolls Royce Phantom parked at the curb, Archibald Sanders watched the chaos unfold on the tablet in his lap. The screen showed a live feed from Casimiro's hidden body camera. His face was a mask of thunderous fury.

He had heard the commotion through Casimiro's earpiece. He had heard Jenelle's scream.

He stopped breathing.

The scene before him was chaos. Jenelle was on the floor, weeping and clutching her knee. Her two hired goons were blind, sneezing and stumbling into the walls.

And standing in the center of the storm were three children.

Archibald's eyes locked onto the boy in the front. The one with the messy dark hair and the defiant stance.

The boy looked up, straight at Casimiro's camera.

Archibald felt like he had been punched in the gut. The air left his lungs in a rush.

Those eyes.

They were his eyes. The exact shade of stormy gray-blue that stared back at him from the mirror every morning. The shape of the brow, the stubborn set of the jaw... it was like looking at a photograph of himself at age five.

Time seemed to warp, slowing down to a crawl.

Jenelle saw Casimiro and let out a wail. "Casimiro! Help me! These monsters attacked me! They're crazy! Where is Archie?"

Archibald ignored her voice crackling through the feed. He leaned closer to the screen, his knuckles white as he gripped the tablet. He watched as Casimiro, following silent orders, stepped over Jenelle's legs as if she were a piece of furniture and walked straight toward the boy.

Blace didn't flinch. He held his ground, chin up, fists clenched.

Casimiro stopped two feet away. He towered over the child, but the boy didn't look scared. He looked... assessing.

Did you do this? Casimiro asked, his voice a neutral vessel for the question Archibald was burning to ask.

She stomped on my sister's bear, Blace said. His voice was steady. "Self-defense."

Archibald watched as the camera panned to the little girl. She was clutching a dirty bear, tears making tracks in the dust on her cheeks.

Something twisted in Archibald's chest. A sharp, unfamiliar pain.

What is wrong with me?

Then, the restroom door banged open.

Get away from them!

The scream tore through the air. Annelise burst out, her hair wild, water dripping from her chin. She saw the tall, dark figure of Casimiro looming over her children.

But her eyes shot past him, through the glass doors of the terminal, and locked onto the imposing, dark silhouette of the Rolls Royce Phantom waiting at the curb. The windows were tinted black, but she knew whose car that was. She knew the emblem. Archibald Sanders. The ruthless billionaire who had discarded her like trash six years ago.

Terror, cold and absolute, flooded her veins.

No, she gasped. She threw herself between Casimiro and the kids, spreading her arms wide. "Tell your boss to stay away! Don't you dare touch them!"

Archibald recoiled in his seat as if she had screamed directly at him. He looked at her face on the screen.

It was Annelise Parker. But she looked different. The photos in the file showed a soft, pampered socialite. This woman was thin, her clothes were worn, and her eyes were filled with a raw, primal terror that unsettled him.

Annelise Parker, he murmured to the empty car, the name tasting like ash. Why did she look at his car with such fear? And why did her terrified face stir a memory he couldn't place... the memory of his Angel? He shook his head. Impossible.

You, she whispered, her pupils dilated, her breathing shallow and fast. She was looking at Casimiro, but her words were for the man in the car. "It's you."

Ma'am, Casimiro said calmly, trying to de-escalate. "Mr. Sanders just wants to talk."

Monster, she breathed. The word was so quiet Casimiro didn't hear it, but the microphone on his lapel picked it up and transmitted it directly to Archibald's earpiece.

Archibald froze. Why did she call him a monster with such visceral fear? He was the one who was wronged. She was the one who cheated.

Jenelle pulled herself up against the wall. "She's insane! Look at her! Arrest her!"

Casimiro took a step forward, his hand outstretched. "Ma'am, please. Let's not make a scene."

Blace saw his mother shaking. He saw the fear in her eyes. He decided the talking was over.

His hand went into his pocket again. He pressed a button on a small, crude remote control he had assembled from a garage door opener. It sent a high-frequency pulse toward the target he'd tagged earlier.

Outside, at the curb, the Rolls Royce Phantom sat idling. A device Blace had slapped onto the front tire's valve stem during the fire panic-a device containing a small, pressurized canister of a fast-acting corrosive agent-activated.

There was no boom. Just a sudden, violent HIIISSSSSSSSS!

The sound was deafening. The front tires of the Rolls Royce deflated simultaneously in under a second, the heavy car slamming down onto its rims with a metallic crunch. The car alarm began to shriek, echoing through the cavernous airport entrance.

Glass didn't shatter. But people screamed at the sudden, violent noise and the sight of the crippled luxury car.

Archibald was thrown forward in his seat by the sudden drop. "What the hell?"

For a second, everyone was distracted.

Annelise didn't hesitate. She grabbed Clemie.

Run! she screamed to the boys. "Run!"

The feed on Archibald's tablet cut out as Casimiro was shoved aside in the ensuing panic. He stared at the black screen. The car alarm was a shrill, incessant counterpoint to the thunderous pounding in his own chest.

Sir, Casimiro's voice crackled through the car's speakers, breathless. "They're gone. Headed for the parking garage. The woman... she looks terrified of you. Truly terrified. And the children... they're not normal kids. They're resourceful. Organized."

Archibald leaned his head back against the cool leather. He could still see the boy's eyes. His eyes. And he could still hear Annelise's whispered word: Monster.

The direct approach had failed catastrophically. He had arrived as a king, intending to sweep her up, force a signature, and banish her. Instead, his car was disabled, his name had been cursed, and his target had vanished, spirited away by a five-year-old saboteur.

"What are your orders, sir?"

"Find them," Archibald said, his voice dropping to a low, determined growl. "I want to know where she's hiding. I want to know who those children are. I will get to the bottom of this myself."