Three weeks after the Fae assault, Hope couldn't leave the stronghold without being recognized, which meant international fame had transformed her from network coordinator into celebrity, and watching my four-and-a-half-year-old daughter become public property was—I was going to have an aneurysm before breakfast finished.
"There's another one." Thorne's voice was flat. Dangerous. Holding a letter that had arrived with seventeen others that morning. "Factions offering contracts. Governments requesting 'consultation services.' Private militaries bidding for her network access. One of them is literally offering—" He stopped. "Offering to buy her outright. Treat her as property."
Treat her as property. Right. Because dimensional genius with network access was apparently commodity.
"How many?" Because I needed to know scope of exploitation attempts.
