The engine's low hum filled the silence like a constant, steady pressure, not loud enough to be distracting, but impossible to ignore once you noticed it. Inside the black Cadillac Escalade, the air felt heavier than it should have, thick with something unspoken, something none of them were willing to put into words just yet.
Abigail sat in the front passenger seat, her posture composed, one leg crossed neatly over the other, her hands resting lightly in her lap. From the outside, she looked calm, collected, perfectly in control, but her eyes told a different story. They moved subtly, taking in everything, the passing scenery, the driver's posture, the quiet tension lingering between her sisters behind her.
She tilted her head just slightly, glancing toward the driver.
His face gave nothing away.
Neutral.
Professional.
Almost too clean, too empty of expression.
He doesn't know anything.
The conclusion came quickly, almost instinctively, and she leaned back into her seat, her gaze drifting forward again. There was no point analyzing him further. Whatever this was, whatever had pulled them away so suddenly, it wasn't something a driver would be privy to.
Which only made it worse.
Because that meant there were only two possibilities.
They were in trouble.
Or…
She wants something.
Abigail's fingers curled slightly against her palm as her thoughts tightened around that idea, turning it over, examining it from every angle the way she always did. Their mother didn't summon them without reason. There was always a purpose, always a calculation behind it, even when it didn't seem obvious at first.
A report, maybe.
About the island.
About what happened there.
That would make sense.
But then why the urgency?
Her gaze softened slightly, unfocusing as her mind drifted somewhere else entirely, somewhere quieter, somewhere warmer.
Adam.
The thought came uninvited, slipping through her mental defenses with an ease that still unsettled her.
She exhaled slowly, her fingers tightening just a fraction.
I was going to see him today.
It had been a simple plan. Nothing elaborate. Just time. Time to observe, to understand, to… explore.
Because whatever this was, whatever she felt when she was around him, it didn't behave like anything she was used to analyzing.
It wasn't clean nor was it predictable.
And it sure as hell didn't follow logic.
It felt like happiness, but sharper somehow, more consuming, like something that reached deeper than it should.
What is that?
Her brow furrowed slightly.
She had seen it before, of course. In movies. In books. In the exaggerated reactions of people who didn't know how to control themselves.
Love.
The word surfaced, uninvited.
Abigail's expression didn't change, but something in her chest tightened, subtle and uncomfortable.
No.
That didn't make sense.
Love was irrational. Unstable. A liability.
What she was experiencing…
It had to be something else.
Something chemical.
A response.
A pattern she hadn't mapped yet.
I just need more data.
Yes.
That made more sense.
She needed more exposure, more observation, more controlled interaction. If she could isolate the variables, understand the triggers, then she could manage it. Control it.
Because if she didn't…
It could interfere with the mission.
Her jaw set slightly.
That's not an option.
In the back seat, Anissa sat by the window, her posture straight, her legs crossed neatly, one hand resting lightly against her arm as she looked out at the passing city. The reflection of the glass softened her features, but it didn't hide the sharpness in her eyes, the quiet calculation that never seemed to fade.
Her dark hair was pulled back into a clean ponytail, every strand in place, every detail deliberate. Her outfit mirrored that same precision, tailored, refined, almost regal in its simplicity. She looked like she belonged somewhere far more formal than the inside of a moving vehicle, like this entire situation was beneath her notice.
She hadn't spoken once.
Hadn't shifted.
Hadn't even acknowledged the tension in the car.
Which, in itself, said more than enough.
Amber, on the other hand, was the complete opposite.
She sprawled comfortably across her side of the back seat, one leg tucked under her, the other bouncing slightly as she tapped away at her phone. The faint sounds of a game leaked from the speakers, rapid and chaotic, matching the energy she carried so effortlessly.
Her pink pixie cut caught the light every time she moved, the color almost too bright against the muted interior of the car. Her clothes were casual, loose, chosen more for comfort than presentation, but somehow it worked for her. It always did.
She looked relaxed.
Carefree.
But the way her fingers moved just a little too fast, the way her foot bounced just a little too hard, betrayed the truth.
She was also stressed.
And she didn't like not knowing why.
The silence stretched.
Then stretched further.
Until—
The car slowed.
The gates opened.
And the Thorne mansion came into view.
The vehicle rolled smoothly up the long driveway, tires crunching softly against the gravel before coming to a precise stop near the front entrance. The moment the engine died, the quiet that followed felt louder than before.
The doors opened almost instantly.
Maids were already waiting prepared.
Abigail stepped out first, her heels clicking softly against the ground as she straightened, her eyes immediately scanning the area. Nothing seemed out of place, but that didn't mean anything.
It never did.
Her sisters followed.
Anissa with her usual composed grace.
Amber stretching slightly as she stepped out, glancing around with open curiosity.
One of the maids, older than the others, stepped forward with a polite bow.
"Welcome back," she said, her voice calm, practiced. "Your mother is currently away on business. She will be returning this evening."
Abigail's gaze sharpened slightly.
Not here? Interesting.
"If you would like," the maid continued, "we have prepared baths and meals for you."
Abigail nodded once.
"Thank you."
The hours that followed passed in a strange, quiet rhythm.
Warm water.
Clean clothes.
Food that was prepared perfectly, as always.
Normal.
Too normal.
Now, they sat together in the rec room.
A space that felt almost out of place within the mansion, designed for comfort rather than appearance. Bean bags scattered across the floor, shelves lined with snacks, a massive plasma screen dominating one wall with every gaming console imaginable hooked into it.
Amber had claimed the center immediately, controller in hand, eyes locked onto the screen as colors and sounds flashed rapidly in front of her.
"Okay, this is actually annoying," she muttered, leaning forward. "Like, what is this? Why are we here?"
Abigail leaned back into one of the bean bags, her posture relaxed but her mind anything but.
"I don't know," she admitted. "But it's not random."
Amber scoffed. "Yeah, no kidding."
Her fingers tightened around the controller. "We don't get called back for no reason like... Ever."
Abigail's gaze shifted.
To Anissa.
She sat by the window again, just like in the car, her figure framed by the fading daylight outside. Calm. Still. Untouched by the tension that wrapped itself around the room.
"Anissa," Abigail said quietly, "what do you think this is about?"
A pause.
Then—
"The only way to know," Anissa replied without turning, her voice even, "is when she tells us."
Abigail's eyes narrowed slightly.
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one that matters."
The dismissal was clean.
Too clean.
And for the first time since they had arrived…
Something in Abigail shifted.
Why is she so calm?
Not composed.
Not controlled.
Calm.
As if…
She already knew.
The thought settled into her mind, slow and heavy.
Does she?
Abigail studied her sister's back, her expression unreadable.
No…
Or maybe—
Her thoughts cut short.
"Hey," Amber suddenly said, her voice sharper now.
Abigail turned.
Amber was pointing toward the window.
"There she is."
A Rolls-Royce glided into the driveway, smooth and silent, its presence commanding without effort.
Abigail straightened slightly.
Her heartbeat slowed.
Focused.
Whatever this was…
It was about to begin.
She rose to her feet, her gaze fixed on the car as it came to a stop.
Behind her, the room felt smaller somehow.
Tighter.
Like the walls themselves were waiting.
Abigail exhaled quietly.
Time to get ready.
Because whatever walked through those doors next…
Would change something.
She could feel it.