I thought I’d prepared myself for this. Hope went on, saying that she’d seen a vision of his death and that he’d been killed by someone he seemed to know, that he’d been getting a file and commenting on his killer working overtime.

Carlos…

“I can go back,” she said. “I’ll try again and maybe pick up more.”

“No,” Karl said. She shot him a look, not too tired to resent him speaking for her. “You’ve done enough.”

“Karl’s right,” Paige said. “You need to get some rest.” As he bustled Hope onto the elevator, Paige murmured, “I’m sorry for putting her through this.”

“She wants to help,” he said.

“I know, but we didn’t mean to—We didn’t know.”

He nodded, then looked at me. “Your father did.”

I felt the weight of that look. How many times had I seen it? As if they expected me to apologize for my father’s behavior or at least explain it. I couldn’t.

I promised to call Karl with an update in the morning. He pretended not to hear, and the elevator doors closed.

WE FOUND GRIFFIN in the doorway of a filing room, recovering from Karl’s blow. He was convinced Hope was behind tonight’s attacks, that she’d encouraged the gang to strike so she could enjoy the chaotic outcome.

I understood now that an attraction to chaos lay at the root of Hope’s powers. I presumed it was similar to a demon’s hunger for chaos, but it was difficult to transfer that concept from a demonic entity to a young woman, particularly one eager to stop trouble.

If my father knew of that chaos need, and brought her into a situation that would feed it…An issue to contend with later.

For now, I disabused Griffin of the notion that the gang was responsible for these attacks. The blueprints suggested they’d been involved, but only working under the real perpetrator—the one who’d supplied those plans. I did not, of course, speculate on the identity of that actor. Not until I had hard evidence.

When the security team arrived, I sent Griffin to the hospital to guard my father. Then I had to deal with William’s body.

Two brothers dead; the third almost certainly responsible. Had someone suggested this possibility yesterday, I’d have agreed that such a thing could happen—the tensions and jealousies that had been simmering all my life could finally explode in a Shakespearean tragedy. But the admission would have been purely intellectual. To witness it unfolding? Beyond comprehending.

I STOOD OUTSIDE a hospital room in a small private facility run by supernaturals, funded by the Cabal for the sole use of their employees.