Seraphina stepped out of the restroom. The noise of the JFK arrivals hall hit her instantly. She immediately glanced toward the security podium, only to find it completely empty. The officer had rushed off to break up a loud, aggressive passenger dispute fifty feet down the hall. She scanned the sea of moving bodies, looking for her twins.

Her eyes locked onto a massive concrete pillar near the VIP channel.

Two small figures stood there, their backs to her.

She frowned, her medical and maternal instincts instantly picking up on something bizarre. The boy was wearing a perfectly tailored, miniature charcoal suit. The girl was dressed in an absurdly expensive, stiff lace dress. They looked like they were attending a high-society gala, not surviving a transatlantic flight. Had they raided the garment bag she’d strictly forbidden them to touch? It was the only explanation for the sudden transformation, though the speed of it defied even her calculations. Perhaps Zara had arrived early and helped them play this prank? No, Zara was still twenty minutes out. Seraphina’s tired brain struggled to bridge the gap, but the visual evidence—her children’s faces, their height—was undeniable.

She walked over fast, her heels clicking sharply against the tile.

"Gideon, really?" Seraphina scolded lightly, reaching out.

She grabbed the boy's hand. The moment her fingers wrapped around his, she noticed it felt slightly bonier than usual. "Dehydration," her medical mind noted automatically. "I need to check his electrolytes the moment we hit the hotel." The chaos of the terminal left no room for a full diagnostic, so she simply tightened her grip and pulled him forward.

Peregrine stumbled. The sudden yank threw him off balance. His first instinct was to rip his hand away and yell for his security detail.

But then he looked up.

He saw the woman's face. His breath caught in his throat. His heart slammed against his ribs. It was her. The woman from the hidden photographs in his father's locked desk drawer.

A strange, electric warmth shot up his arm from where her hand held his. The rigid tension in his muscles vanished. He didn't fight. He just let her pull him.

Isolde stood frozen. She watched her brother get dragged away by a stranger. Her massive eyes stretched wide with pure terror. Her small fists grabbed fistfuls of her lace skirt. She opened her mouth to scream, but her throat was locked tight. Not a single sound came out.

Seraphina stopped and looked back. She saw the girl standing there like a statue.

"Silas, come on," Seraphina sighed. She reached out with her free hand, grabbed Isolde's arm, and pulled her into her side. "Stop daydreaming."

Isolde crashed into Seraphina's legs. She was instantly enveloped in a soft, warm scent of jasmine and vanilla. It was a mother's scent. Something Isolde had never, ever felt. The absolute terror in her chest melted into a confusing, desperate need.

Isolde leaned her head against Seraphina's thigh. Her little fingers slowly reached out and clamped onto the fabric of Seraphina's trench coat. Hot tears welled up in her eyes.

Seraphina looked down. She frowned. Silas was usually a whirlwind of chatter. This stony silence was her 'red-zone'—the state she entered only when she was dangerously overstimulated and on the verge of a total meltdown. Seraphina knew she had to get her out of this sensory-overloaded hall immediately before the screaming started.

"Are you feeling sick?" Seraphina asked softly. She pressed the back of her hand against Isolde's forehead. It felt cool. No fever. "Just jet lag, huh? Let's go."

She tightened her grip on both their hands and marched toward the exit.

Fifty feet away, inside a high-end boutique, the real Gideon was paying for a box of pastel macarons. He turned around to hand one to his sister.

He stopped dead.

The pink macaron box slipped from his fingers. It hit the floor with a loud smack. The delicate cookies shattered, scattering across the polished tiles.

Silas followed her brother's frozen stare. She slapped both hands over her mouth. A loud gasp sucked into her lungs.

They watched, completely paralyzed, as their mother walked toward the exit doors. She was holding the hands of two kids who looked exactly like them. It was like looking into a terrifying, walking mirror.

Gideon's genius brain fired on all cylinders. He instantly ruled out cloning. The math was simple, but the conclusion was earth-shattering.

He grabbed Silas's arm and yanked her hard behind a display rack.

"Don't scream," Gideon hissed, his face pale. "We have siblings."

Silas's eyes were huge. She pointed frantically toward the doors, her whole body vibrating with the urge to run after their mother.

Gideon pressed his hand flat against her chest, holding her back. "No. Wait. Look."

Heavy, fast footsteps echoed from the VIP corridor. Four massive men in black suits pushed through the crowd. In the center was Julian's executive assistant, M. Blackwood. Sweat poured down Blackwood's forehead. He was looking around frantically.

Blackwood's eyes swept past the boutique. He spotted the two small figures hiding behind the rack.

The color rushed back into Blackwood's face. He let out a massive breath of relief and practically sprinted over.

He stopped in front of them and bowed slightly. "Young Master. Miss. Please, you cannot wander off like that. Your father is waiting."

Gideon and Silas looked at each other. A silent, high-speed conversation happened between their eyes. They both understood the assignment instantly.

Gideon wiped all emotion from his face. He lifted his chin, mimicking the cold, arrogant posture he had seen on the boy who looked like him. He didn't say a single word.

Silas pressed her lips tightly together. She shrank behind Gideon's back, grabbing his jacket and looking at Blackwood with wide, fearful eyes. She perfectly copied the terrified girl they had just seen.

Blackwood didn't notice a thing. He just thought the kids were throwing one of their usual silent tantrums.

"Please follow me to the VIP lounge," Blackwood urged, gesturing for the bodyguards to form a protective ring around them.

Gideon grabbed Silas's hand. He stepped out from behind the rack and walked forward into the lion's den. A dangerous, twisted game of identity had just begun.

Seraphina pushed through the heavy glass doors of the airport. A sharp blast of cold autumn wind hit her face. She shivered and pulled her trench coat tighter around herself.

She looked down at the two kids holding her hands. They were completely silent. It was unnerving.

A loud, aggressive screech of tires ripped through the air. A bright red Porsche 911 slammed on its brakes, stopping inches from the curb right in front of them. Pedestrians jumped back, glaring at the car.

The tinted window rolled down. Zara leaned out. She wore massive, oversized sunglasses and a bright red leather jacket.

"Sera!" Zara screamed over the noise of the traffic, waving frantically.

Seraphina felt a genuine smile break across her face. She walked to the car, leaned into the window, and gave her best friend a tight hug.

Zara pulled down her sunglasses. Her eyes dropped to the two kids. Her smile faltered. Her eyebrows pulled together in confusion.

She stared at the boy. Usually, Gideon would be climbing the car door by now, asking about the engine specs. Today, he stood perfectly straight, his hands clasped neatly in front of him, looking like a tiny corporate executive.

She looked at the girl. Silas was usually demanding hugs and candy. Today, she was practically glued to Seraphina's leg, her eyes darting around like a frightened rabbit.

"Did aliens abduct my godkids on the plane?" Zara joked, pointing a manicured finger at them. "Why are they acting like robots?"

Peregrine's stomach dropped. Panic flared in his chest. He realized he was acting completely wrong for whoever this woman expected him to be. He forced his spine to relax. He tried to mimic what he thought a normal kid sounded like.

He cleared his throat. "Hello, Aunt Zara," Peregrine said. His voice was stiff, formal, and completely devoid of emotion.

Zara burst out laughing. She reached out the window to ruffle his hair. "Wow, someone swallowed a dictionary."

Peregrine saw the hand coming. His body reacted on pure instinct. He flinched hard and jerked his head away to avoid the touch.

Seraphina saw the flinch. A spike of worry hit her. Her finely-tuned medical instincts flared instantly. Gideon never shied away from physical contact like that; he was usually the first to demand a hug. She reached her hand out, intending to check his pulse and gauge his body temperature, but the boy took another sharp, defensive step back. His eyes were wide, guarded, and completely unfamiliar. The extreme physical reaction made her freeze. Were they severely traumatized by the sudden turbulence on the flight? Pushing them into a medical examination right now might trigger a full-blown panic attack. She quickly stepped between them and Zara, creating a physical barrier to protect the children. "They're just exhausted, Zara. The jet lag is hitting them hard. Pop the doors. I need to get them settled at the hotel and figure out what is really going on in their heads."

Peregrine stepped back. He opened the heavy car door and stood aside, waiting for Isolde to climb in first. It was a deeply ingrained gentleman's habit.

Zara watched him from the rearview mirror, her mouth slightly open. "Since when does he hold doors?"

The Porsche merged aggressively onto the highway. Zara cranked up the stereo. Heavy, pounding rock music blasted through the small cabin. Zara yelled over the music, updating Seraphina on the hospital situation.

In the backseat, the noise hit Isolde like a physical blow.

Her face drained of all color. She pressed herself deep into the corner of the leather seat. She clamped both hands over her ears, her chest heaving as panic set in.

Peregrine saw his sister breaking down. He unbuckled his seatbelt immediately. He leaned across the seat and clamped his own hands over Isolde's ears, shielding her. He glared at the back of Zara's head, his eyes burning with silent fury.

Seraphina glanced at the rearview mirror. Her heart squeezed painfully.

"Zara, kill the music. Now," Seraphina snapped.

Zara hit the button. The car plunged into sudden silence.

Seraphina twisted around in her seat. She looked at Isolde's pale, terrified face. "Silas, baby, what's wrong? Does your head hurt?"

Isolde kept her mouth clamped shut. Tears pooled in her eyes and spilled over her cheeks. She shook her head violently.

Seraphina's medical instincts flared. The real Silas would be complaining loudly. This silence was wrong. She reached her hand back to touch Isolde's cheek.

Isolde shrank away from the hand, burying her face into Peregrine's shoulder. She looked at Seraphina with pure, defensive terror.

Peregrine's heart hammered against his ribs. He had to protect his sister's secret. He couldn't let this woman find out Isolde was mute.

"Her throat hurts," Peregrine lied smoothly, blocking Seraphina's hand with his own arm. "She can't talk. It hurts too much."

Seraphina stared at her son's defensive posture. The unease in her gut grew heavier, her mind rapidly racing through the diagnostic criteria for pediatric psychological trauma. This profound level of withdrawal, combined with the sudden, unnatural mutism in Silas, was deeply alarming. But seeing the dark circles under their eyes and the visible, erratic trembling in the little girl's shoulders, she backed off. Forcing a clinical examination in the back of a moving sports car would only escalate their severe stress response. She had to bide her time. She turned around and stared out the windshield, her mind racing.

Meanwhile, inside the ultra-exclusive VIP lounge at JFK.

Gideon and Silas sat rigidly on a massive, tufted leather sofa. The room was dead silent.

Blackwood walked over and placed a silver tray on the glass table. Two glasses of warm milk and a plate of artisan pastries sat untouched.

Gideon stared at the food with absolute disgust. He crossed his arms over his chest. This guy has terrible taste, he thought.

Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the lounge were shoved open.

The air pressure in the room seemed to drop instantly. A suffocating, freezing aura flooded the space.

Julian Astor-Vance walked in. His long legs ate up the distance across the carpet. His face was a mask of cold fury. He stopped right in front of the sofa and stared down at the two children.

Julian stood over the leather sofa. His towering frame cast a dark shadow over the two children. The muscle in his jaw feathered. He was furious.

"Do you have any idea what you just did?" Julian's voice was low, cold, and completely devoid of any paternal warmth. "Running away from your security detail in a public terminal. Completely unacceptable."

The freezing tone hit Silas like a bucket of ice water. She shrank back into the cushions. Her bottom lip trembled. She instinctively reached out and grabbed the back of Gideon's jacket, hiding behind him. Her large eyes filled with hot tears.

Gideon didn't flinch.

He tilted his head back and met Julian's terrifying stare head-on. His small hands curled into tight fists at his sides. The protective instinct for his sister burned hot in his chest.

Instead of looking down and apologizing like Peregrine would have, Gideon let out a sharp, mocking laugh.

"If you're so busy being important," Gideon sneered, his voice dripping with a calculated, childish defiance, "why did you even bother coming to find us? Why don't you go back to that smelly Livia woman? Mom says bad women wear that kind of perfume, and she's always acting like she's hurt just to get attention!"

The words exploded in the quiet room like a bomb.

Behind Julian, Blackwood gasped loudly. The assistant's eyes bugged out of his head. He looked at the boy as if he had just grown a second head.

Julian's entire body went rigid. The sharp lines of his face tightened in absolute shock. His dark eyes widened a fraction. He stared at his son, unable to process the blatant disrespect. Peregrine had never, ever spoken to him like this.

Julian took a heavy step forward. His oppressive aura crashed down on Gideon.

"Who taught you to speak like that?" Julian demanded, his voice dropping an octave.

Gideon didn't back down an inch. He pushed his chest out. "No one has to teach me the truth. Livia is a fake. She's a hypocrite, and she doesn't deserve to be anywhere near us."

The sheer disrespect stung Julian. He reached his large hand out, intending to grab the boy's shoulder and force him to sit down.

Gideon saw the hand coming. He twisted his torso sharply, dodging the grip with surprising speed.

Silas saw the man reach for her brother. The fear in her chest vanished, replaced instantly by pure, hot anger. She couldn't take it anymore.

She jumped up onto the sofa cushions. She threw her arms out wide, physically blocking Julian from Gideon.

"You big jerk! Stop bullying my brother!" Silas screamed at the top of her lungs.

Her clear, high-pitched voice bounced off the walls of the VIP lounge.

Time stopped.

Julian's outstretched hand froze mid-air. The anger on his face shattered, instantly replaced by a look of absolute, paralyzing disbelief.

Behind him, the heavy file folder slipped from Blackwood's hands. It hit the floor with a loud slap. Blackwood's jaw literally dropped open.

Because in their world, Isolde Astor-Vance had severe PTSD. She suffered from selective mutism. She had not spoken a single syllable in three agonizing years.

Julian's breathing turned ragged. His hand began to shake visibly. He slowly pulled his arm back and sank down onto his knees, bringing himself to eye level with the furious little girl.

"Isolde?" Julian whispered. His voice cracked. It was so fragile it sounded like it would break. He stared at her mouth, his eyes rapidly filling with red veins. "Did you... did you just speak?"

Silas looked at the massive, terrifying man who was suddenly looking at her like she was a miracle. She felt a spike of panic. She didn't know what to do. She turned her head and looked at Gideon for help.

Gideon's brain screamed red alerts. He realized instantly what had happened. The girl they were pretending to be must be mute. Silas had just blown their cover.

Gideon shot Silas a desperate, hard glare. He tapped his own lips twice with his finger.

Silas understood immediately. She snapped her mouth shut. She pressed her lips together so hard they turned white. She shook her head violently, grabbed Gideon's arm, and buried her face into his chest, refusing to look at Julian again.

Julian reached out, his fingers trembling, trying to touch her arm. "Isolde, please. Say it again. Just one word."

Silas remained completely silent. She acted like a stone wall.

The desperate hope in Julian's eyes slowly died out. The light faded, leaving behind a crushing, heavy darkness. He closed his eyes tight, swallowing the bitter taste of disappointment. He assumed she had just had a momentary panic response and retreated right back into her traumatic shell.

He stood up. The cold, impenetrable armor slammed back into place.

"Have the cars brought around," Julian ordered Blackwood, his voice dead. "We are going back to the Manhattan apartment."

Gideon grabbed Silas's hand. He followed the tall, broad back of the man out of the lounge. A strange, uncomfortable feeling twisted in Gideon's chest. The man was a monster, but the pain in his eyes had been real.

Across the city, Seraphina and Zara walked into the lobby of a hyper-luxury Manhattan hotel.

They approached the marble front desk to check in.

Before Seraphina could open her purse, Peregrine stepped forward. He reached into her open bag, pulled out her passport, and slid it across the marble counter to the receptionist. He stood perfectly straight, waiting for the key cards like a trained butler.

Zara watched this with her mouth hanging open. She leaned in close to Seraphina's ear.

"Sera," Zara whispered, "I think your kid got possessed by a sixty-year-old accountant."

Seraphina stared at the rigid, overly mature posture of her son. The cold knot of suspicion in her stomach tightened. Something was deeply, fundamentally wrong. She decided she was going to interrogate him the second they got into the room.