But the girls—they were real. They had been alive the entire time. They had been stolen.
The car slowed as they reached a small, two-story farmhouse at the edge of town. Its porch light flickered dimly in the mist, casting long shadows over the yard. A swing creaked in the breeze, and somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once before the silence fell again. It was almost too quiet. Too peaceful.
“Denise Colter lives here,” Ruiz said, his voice low from the backseat. He had been silent for most of the drive, his face unreadable as he watched the streetlights flicker past.
Ethan didn’t answer. His jaw was set, his eyes focused ahead, but Claire saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers gripped the wheel like it was the only thing holding him together.
They stopped in front of the farmhouse, and for a moment, no one moved. The air was thick with unspoken words. The house loomed in front of them, the figure of Denise Colter waiting behind the closed door like a ghost from Claire’s past. The betrayal was so deep, so vast, that Claire could hardly look at it. Denise had been her cousin. A constant in Claire’s life. Denise, who had wrapped Claire in sympathy and care after the twins were “gone.”
But now? Now Denise was the one who had kept them from her. Who had raised them as her own while Claire and Ethan lived in the aftermath of a death they hadn’t been allowed to grieve.
Claire’s voice was a whisper when she finally spoke, though it felt like it could shatter everything in its wake.
“This is it, Ethan,” she said, her eyes not leaving the house. “This is where they’ve been.”
Ethan’s eyes softened, but his grip on the wheel never loosened. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
Claire didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She just nodded, trying to calm the storm in her chest.
Ruiz was already out of the car, his footsteps heavy in the damp grass. He moved with the measured confidence of a man used to dealing with criminals—but even he seemed to know the gravity of what was about to unfold.
They approached the door, and Ruiz knocked firmly three times.
The silence stretched before the door creaked open.
Denise Colter stood on the other side.
She was wearing a faded sweater and jeans, her hair pulled back into a messy bun. When she saw them, her face fell.
