Chapter 28
2472words
Felix stared at the photo on my phone, his face draining of color. "They wouldn't—"
"They would." I showed the driver a hundred-dollar bill. "Back to Cambridge. Now."
The taxi driver hesitated, glancing between the money and the Federal Building looming ahead. "Lady, you sure? You said emergency—"
"Different emergency." I pressed the bill into his hand. "Please."
He nodded, executing a sharp U-turn that threw me against Felix's side. The city blurred past the rain-streaked windows, neon signs and streetlights smearing like watercolors.
Felix's arm tightened around me. "This is exactly what they want. To draw us away from the authorities."
"I know." My fingers clutched the phone so hard the edges bit into my palm. "But it's Professor Harlow."
"We have copies of the evidence. We can still go to the FBI after—"
"After what?" I turned to him, voice cracking. "After they kill her too? Like Emma? Like me in another life?"
His jaw tightened, the muscle there jumping beneath his skin. He took the phone from my hand, typing a response to the unknown number.
*What do you want?*
The reply came instantly, as if they'd been waiting.
*The evidence. All copies. Come alone to the Blackwood Foundation gallery. One hour.*
Felix's eyes met mine, a silent conversation passing between us. We both knew it was a trap. We both knew we had no choice.
"Drop us at the corner of Newbury and Arlington," Felix told the driver, his voice steady despite the storm I could see building behind his eyes.
I leaned closer, whispering urgently. "We can't give them the evidence. It's the only leverage we have."
"I know." His fingers laced through mine, warm despite everything. "Trust me."
The taxi pulled to the curb, rain hammering its roof like impatient fingers. Felix handed the driver another bill. "Wait five minutes, then call this number." He scribbled on a business card. "Tell them everything you've seen tonight."
The driver's eyes widened. "You in some kind of trouble?"
"The kind that gets people killed," I said honestly.
Felix led me through the rain to a sleek glass building—his corporate offices, not the foundation gallery. He pressed his keycard against the reader, ushering me inside the silent lobby.
"Why are we here?" I asked as he guided me toward the elevators. "They said the gallery—"
"We're not going to the gallery. Not yet." The elevator doors closed around us, sealing us in momentary safety. "We need leverage of our own."
The executive floor was dark, deserted at this late hour. Felix moved with purpose through the shadows to his corner office, unlocking the door with practiced ease.
Inside, he went straight to a painting on the wall—a small Turner seascape I'd admired on my first visit. He swung it aside, revealing a wall safe.
"The one place Alexander can't access," he explained, spinning the dial with quick, precise movements. "Even Blackwood cousins keep secrets from each other."
The safe door swung open. Inside lay a gun, gleaming dully in the low light, and a thick manila envelope.
My breath caught. "Felix—"
"Insurance policy." He removed both items, checking the gun with practiced hands. "I've been gathering my own evidence against Alexander for years. Since Emma."
"You know how to use that?" I nodded toward the weapon.
A shadow crossed his face. "My father insisted all Blackwood men learn. Said you never know when family becomes your greatest threat."
He tucked the gun into his waistband, concealing it beneath his tuxedo jacket. The envelope went into an inside pocket.
"What's the plan?" I asked, heart hammering against my ribs.
"We go to the gallery. We make the exchange." His eyes met mine, hard as granite. "But we don't give them everything."
"And Professor Harlow?"
"We get her out first. That's non-negotiable."
My phone buzzed again—another message, another photo. Professor Harlow sat in a chair, silver hair disheveled, a bruise darkening her cheek. Behind her stood Vivienne, immaculate in her silver gown despite the late hour, a smile curving her perfect lips.
*Tick tock.*
Rage burned through me, hot and clarifying. "I'm going to kill her."
Felix didn't ask which "her" I meant. He simply nodded, taking my hand. "Let's go."
The Blackwood Foundation gallery was dark when our taxi pulled up, the grand façade looming like a mausoleum against the night sky. Rain had given way to mist, wreathing the streetlights in ghostly halos.
"Stay behind me," Felix murmured as we approached the entrance. "No matter what happens."
The door opened before we reached it. Alexander stood in the threshold, golden and perfect in his tuxedo despite the late hour. Only the hardness in his eyes betrayed that this was no ordinary social occasion.
"Cousin," he greeted Felix, voice silky with false warmth. "And Ms. Winters. How kind of you to accept our invitation."
"Where is she?" I demanded, stepping forward despite Felix's warning hand on my arm.
Alexander's smile didn't reach his eyes. "All in good time. Please, come in."
The gallery's main hall was dimly lit, spotlights illuminating only the most valuable pieces in the collection. Our footsteps echoed on marble floors as Alexander led us deeper into the building, toward the special exhibition room where I'd first seen the forged Botticellis.
Vivienne waited there, a vision in silver, her beauty all the more terrible for its perfection. Professor Harlow sat in a chair beside her, hands bound before her, a defiant glare on her face despite the bruise marring her cheek.
"Lyra," she said when she saw me, relief flooding her features. "I told them not to come," she added, glaring at Vivienne. "Stubborn girl never did listen."
"Are you hurt?" I asked, moving toward her.
Alexander stepped between us. "The evidence first."
"Professor Harlow first," Felix countered, his voice deadly calm. "Or there's no deal."
Tension crackled between the cousins, years of rivalry and resentment crystallizing in this moment. Finally, Alexander nodded to Vivienne.
She produced a small knife, slicing through Professor Harlow's bonds with deliberate slowness. "There. Satisfied?"
Professor Harlow stood, rubbing her wrists. She moved to my side with dignity despite her disheveled appearance. "I hope you have a plan," she whispered. "Because these two are certifiable."
"The evidence," Alexander repeated, hand outstretched. "All copies."
Felix reached into his jacket, producing a flash drive. "It's all here. Financial records, bank transfers, insurance valuations. Everything we found in your office tonight."
Alexander's eyes narrowed. "And the cloud uploads?"
"Deleted," I lied smoothly. "We only wanted leverage, not to destroy the Blackwood name completely."
Vivienne laughed, the sound like breaking crystal. "How noble. And how utterly unbelievable."
She moved with predatory grace to stand beside Alexander, her hand sliding possessively up his arm. "You really think we'd let you walk out of here? After what you've seen? After what you know?"
"I think," Felix said carefully, "that you value self-preservation above all else. And killing three people—including a respected academic—would be considerably harder to cover up than financial crimes."
"Unless," Alexander countered, "it was a murder-suicide. Disgraced authentication specialist, desperate after her professional humiliation, takes revenge on her critics before turning the gun on herself."
My blood ran cold. They'd planned this. Planned every detail of our deaths.
"That won't work," Professor Harlow said, her academic's voice incongruously calm. "I've already sent copies of everything to my attorney, with instructions to open them if anything happens to me."
A bluff—a perfect, brilliant bluff. I kept my face carefully neutral, praying Alexander and Vivienne wouldn't see through it.
Alexander's smile faltered slightly. "You're lying."
"Am I?" Professor Harlow raised an imperious eyebrow. "Care to bet your freedom on that assumption?"
Uncertainty flickered across Alexander's perfect features. He turned to Vivienne, some silent communication passing between them.
"Give me the drive," he said finally, turning back to Felix. "We'll verify its contents, then you can go."
Felix hesitated, then handed over the flash drive. Alexander passed it to Vivienne, who moved to a computer terminal in the corner of the room.
The moment stretched, taut as a wire. I edged closer to Professor Harlow, positioning myself between her and our captors. Felix remained utterly still, his posture relaxed in a way that raised the hairs on my neck. The calm before a storm.
"It's all here," Vivienne confirmed, scrolling through files. "Financial records, bank statements, insurance documents."
"And the dossier on Ms. Winters?" Alexander asked.
My heart stuttered. The file that proved he'd targeted me from the beginning, that my death had been calculated rather than passionate—the most damning evidence of all.
"Not here," Vivienne said, frowning.
Alexander's head snapped toward us. "Where is it?"
"Insurance," Felix replied calmly. "In case this exchange didn't go as planned."
Alexander's handsome face contorted with rage. "You think this is a game?"
"No," Felix's voice hardened. "I think it's justice. For Emma. For Lyra. For everyone you've used and discarded."
"Emma?" Vivienne laughed, the sound like shattering ice. "That pathetic little intern who couldn't handle rejection? She jumped. Ask anyone."
"She was pushed," Felix countered. "After she discovered your forgery scheme. Just like Lyra was pushed when she became inconvenient."
Confusion flickered across Alexander's face. "What are you talking about? Lyra's standing right there."
"Not this Lyra," I said, stepping forward. "The Lyra you murdered three years from now. The one Vivienne pushed off your yacht when she discovered I was pregnant with your child."
Silence fell, heavy and absolute. Alexander stared at me like I'd grown a second head. Vivienne's perfect features arranged themselves into a mask of concerned confusion.
"She's delusional," Vivienne said to Alexander. "This is what I warned you about. Her obsession with you—"
"I'm not obsessed," I cut in. "I'm furious. And I remember everything—the yacht party, the confrontation, the cold water filling my lungs as you watched me drown."
"This is absurd," Alexander scoffed, but uncertainty had crept into his voice. "You can't remember something that never happened."
"But it did happen," Felix said quietly. "In another timeline. One where I failed to save her."
Alexander's gaze darted between us. "You've both lost your minds."
"Have we?" I stepped closer, close enough to see the pulse jumping in his throat. "Then how do I know about the birthmark on your left hip? The one shaped like Italy. How do I know you're allergic to shellfish but eat it anyway, carrying an EpiPen in your jacket pocket? How do I know you cry during dog food commercials but never at funerals?"
Alexander's face had gone pale. These were intimate details, things only a lover would know.
"You've been stalking me," he said, but the accusation lacked conviction.
"No," I replied softly. "I've been remembering you. Every lie. Every manipulation. Every moment you pretended to love me while plotting my destruction."
Something shifted in Alexander's eyes—not belief, exactly, but doubt. Vivienne saw it too. She moved to his side, hand closing around his arm like a vise.
"She's playing mind games," Vivienne hissed. "Don't listen."
But Alexander was staring at me with new eyes, seeing something he hadn't before. "The authentication technique," he said slowly. "Your paper on synthetic pigments in Renaissance works. That's why we—"
"Why you targeted me," I finished. "Why you 'coincidentally' approached me at that faculty reception. Why you pursued me so persistently. You needed to neutralize the threat I posed to your operation."
Alexander's gaze shifted to Felix. "And you? What's your role in this delusion?"
"I've been dreaming about her death for a year," Felix replied simply. "Watching her drown. Diving in after her. Failing to reach her in time."
"That's not possible," Alexander whispered, but his certainty was crumbling.
"Many things aren't possible," I said. "Yet here we are."
The gallery fell silent, the only sound the soft hum of the climate control system maintaining perfect conditions for priceless art—both real and forged. The moment balanced on a knife's edge, reality itself seeming to hold its breath.
Then Vivienne laughed—a sound so cold it frosted the air between us.
"It doesn't matter," she said, reaching into her clutch. "Whether she's crazy or clairvoyant, she won't leave this room alive."
The gun in her hand gleamed dully under the gallery lights, small but deadly. She aimed it at my heart with unwavering precision.
"Vivienne," Alexander warned, stepping back. "This isn't the plan."
"Plans change," she replied, not taking her eyes off me. "She knows too much. They all do."
Professor Harlow moved to stand beside me, her aged hand finding mine. "If you shoot us, you'll never find all the copies of the evidence."
"I'll take that chance." Vivienne's perfect lips curved into a smile. "Starting with you, old woman."
She shifted her aim to Professor Harlow. My body moved before my mind could process—lunging forward, shoving the professor aside as Vivienne's finger tightened on the trigger.
The gunshot cracked through the gallery like thunder.
Pain exploded in my shoulder, hot and shocking. I stumbled, fell. Warm wetness spread across my chest, staining the sapphire gown crimson.
Chaos erupted. Felix shouted my name. Another gunshot echoed—Felix's weapon, drawn with lightning speed. Vivienne screamed, the sound more rage than pain. Glass shattered somewhere nearby.
I lay on the cold marble floor, the ceiling spinning above me. Professor Harlow knelt beside me, pressing her hands against my wound, her voice distant and distorted.
"Stay with me, Lyra. Stay with me."
Footsteps pounded across marble. Felix's face appeared above me, white with terror.
"Lyra," he breathed, gathering me against him. "Hold on. Just hold on."
"Did you get her?" I asked, my voice a strange, weak thing I barely recognized.
"She's down," he confirmed. "Alexander ran."
"Coward," I whispered, darkness creeping at the edges of my vision. "Always was."
Felix's arms tightened around me. "Don't talk. Ambulance is coming."
I tried to focus on his face—the face that had haunted my dreams since my resurrection. The face of the man who had tried to save me once and was trying again.
"Don't let me drown," I murmured, the words slurring as consciousness began to slip away.
"Never," Felix promised, his voice breaking. "Not in this lifetime or any other."
As sirens wailed in the distance and Professor Harlow continued her desperate first aid, I clung to that promise like a lifeline. I hadn't come back from death only to die again. I hadn't found Felix across timelines only to lose him now.
The darkness pulled stronger, irresistible as the tide. The last thing I saw was Felix's face, fierce with a love that transcended time itself.
The last thing I heard was his voice, raw with emotion: "Stay with me, Lyra. Our story isn't over yet."
Then nothing but the deep, endless dark.
