"It's not in Europe, is it?"
My voice came out small, almost lost in the crackle of the fireplace. Theo's whole body went stiff. The blood on his bandage spread a little darker where the stitches pulled.
He didn't say anything.
He didn't have to.
I felt it hit him like a punch to the gut: the crown his mom swore was just a bedtime story had been under this house the entire time.
I took one step closer. My legs were still shaky from everything we'd done in the panic room, and I could feel him leaking out of me with every heartbeat.
"If Lucien gets his hands on it," I said, "he wins. The kids. Me. You. Everything."
His eyes snapped up to mine. They were glassy, wide, scared in a way I'd never seen on him before. His hands flew to my stomach, fingers spread wide like he could shield both babies just by holding on.
His throat worked. Once. Twice. No sound.
Then his face crumpled.
