Chapter 116

Chapter 116
The screens flicker to life, piecing the family together out of pixels and lag. On one, Virginia sits straight-backed at her workbench, the gray-blue glare of her studio lamps reflecting off the artifact in her hands. On another, Derek and Ethan squeeze together on the long, butter-soft sofa of the penthouse, both looking like they haven’t slept in days. Steven occupies the bottom-right, hospital waiting room in the background, fluorescent haze blurring the lines of his suit and making his face a map of shadows and fatigue.

There’s a moment—just a few seconds—where nobody speaks, the connection settling, everyone recalibrating their expectations of each other’s faces.

Steven starts. “Sophie’s in recovery,” he says, his voice gravelly. “They had to take the baby early. She’s still in surgery, but the doctor thinks she’ll make it. The kid, too.”

Derek nods, once. “That’s good.”

Virginia’s eyes dart to the left, offscreen. “What happened?” she asks.

“Placental abruption,” Steven says, the words practiced now. “They’ll keep her sedated for the night. I don’t know when I can see her.”

Ethan is hunched, hands jammed under his thighs, gaze fixed on the floor. “It’s not your fault,” he mutters, but nobody acknowledges it.

Derek shifts, clearing his throat. “We need to talk about what you found, V.”

Virginia sets her jaw, holds up the artifact to the webcam. The gold leaf gleams, and the carved faces of the saints seem to leer in the harsh light. She rotates the piece, points to the seam she uncovered. “There’s a compartment,” she says. “Inside was this.” She holds up the parchment, the crest visible even in the low-res feed. “It has our name. Welsh. In Latin.”

Steven sits up, eyebrows knitting. “Is that possible?”

Virginia shrugs. “I double-checked. It’s real. Dated mid-18th century. It references a child, ‘verum filius’—the true son. And a betrayal.”

Derek leans forward, squinting. “Let me see the handwriting.” He gestures for her to zoom in, and she obliges. “That’s your grandfather’s. No question.”

Ethan’s eyes flicker up. “Who is Lila?” He speaks fast, urgent. “I keep seeing her name in the files. She’s in all the hospital records—like she was watching or recording everything that happened.”

A silence. Then Steven, almost too calm: “That was your mother’s code name. She was a plant, undercover for the agency. They used her to monitor high-value targets. It’s how she met me.”

Virginia’s hands shake, just barely, but she holds the artifact steady. “This changes everything. The family history—the whole story. We’re not who we think we are.”

Derek lets the words hang, then: “Who else knows?”

“Someone,” Ethan says, “was paying to keep it buried. Maybe still is.” He looks at Derek, at Steven. “What if they’re still watching us?”

On screen, Steven sags, bone-tired. “We’ll handle it. Like we always do. Just—keep that thing safe, V. If there’s a message, we’ll need it.”

The feed glitches—Virginia’s face freezes in mid-sentence, then jumps back to life. “I’m not sure it’s safe here,” she says, voice echoing with digital artifact. “The studio—it’s not as secure as I thought. There’s been people outside, vans with no plates. Sometimes I think someone’s been inside while I’m gone.”

Derek’s eyes go dark. “Get out. Now.”

“I will,” she says, though she doesn’t move. “I just wanted you to see this.” She flips the artifact again, and as she does, a shape moves behind her—a blur at the edge of the frame, gone before anyone can call it out.

The connection sours, fills with static. Steven is shouting, but the sound drops in and out: “Virginia—can you—get somewhere—safe—?”

Ethan is yelling too, panic punching holes in his voice. “V, don’t hang up! Let us see—”

Virginia turns, startled, as if hearing something just out of range. Then the screen goes black.

For a few seconds, nobody breathes. The hospital’s white noise buzzes in Steven’s background; in the penthouse, the silence is absolute, the only motion Ethan’s hand fluttering over the laptop, refreshing, refreshing, trying to get her back.

Derek breaks first. “We need to move. Get her out before whoever’s watching decides to do more than watch.”

Steven nods, all business. “I’ll pull some strings, get her on a flight here. If she can get to the airport—”

Ethan’s knuckles are white on the table’s edge. “What if she can’t?”

Derek’s jaw sets. “Then we go to her.”

They all stare at the dead screen, waiting for it to resurrect, for Virginia to reappear, to say it was nothing, to be fine. But the silence only deepens, the feed refusing to recover.

Somewhere in Europe, a shadow moves through Virginia’s studio.

Somewhere in America, three men listen to the static, the echoes of their own panic looping endlessly back.

There is nothing left but the open channel, the hope that next time, someone will answer.