“Last surviving subject?”
Walter’s gaze moved toward Melanie.
And the room went silent.
Melanie whispered the truth before he could.
“You weren’t the only child Grandpa treated.”
—
PART 5
THE SECOND GIRL IN THE FILE
Walter was transported to the hospital under armed guard.
By sunrise, federal investigators had sealed the underground laboratory.
I sat in a secure hospital room with Wyatt and Melanie while Detective Beckett placed a thin file on the table between us.
Two photographs lay inside.
The first showed me as an infant.
The second showed another baby girl with dark hair and a tiny scar beneath her right ear.
Melanie stared at the photograph.
“That’s me.”
Walter nodded weakly from his bed.
“You were both treated.”
My sister looked at me.
“For the same condition?”
“No,” Walter said. “Sadie had optic nerve degeneration. Melanie had a severe immune disorder.”
I remembered how often Melanie had been sick as a child. Hospital stays. Fever. Months of isolation.
Our parents had always said she had simply grown stronger.
“She would have died before her third birthday,” Walter continued. “Harold used a modified version of the treatment to repair her immune response.”
Melanie’s face crumpled.
“Grandpa saved me.”
“Yes.”
“And I helped them kill him.”
“You were fifteen,” I said.
“I carried the pills.”
“You didn’t know.”
“But I stood on the porch while Dad hit you.”
Her voice broke.
“I knew that was wrong.”
I had imagined this moment countless times—the moment Melanie finally admitted what she had done.
I expected satisfaction.
Instead, I felt grief.
Because beneath the cruelty, jealousy, and competition, I suddenly saw the frightened child our parents had shaped into a weapon.
“You wanted Wyatt,” I said.
She stared at the floor.
“At first, I wanted what you had. Mom kept telling me you had stolen my future. She said Grandpa meant to leave everything to me until you manipulated him.”
“You believed her?”
“I needed to.”
The honesty hurt.
“If I admitted she was lying, then I had to admit my entire life was built on lies.”
Wyatt remained silent, though his hand never left mine.
Detective Beckett opened another folder.
“Federal agents raided Virex Medical’s regional offices this morning.”
“Did they find evidence?” I asked.
“More than expected. Payments to your parents. Surveillance records. Copies of your medical files.”
Melanie looked sick.
“They watched us?”
“For years.”
A federal prosecutor named Rachel Sloan joined us by video.
“Virex believed Harold’s treatment had long-term genetic consequences,” she explained.
“What consequences?”
“We don’t know yet. But they tracked both of you because they suspected the effects could be inherited.”
I looked at Wyatt.
We had talked about children.
A house.
A future.
Now fear entered every dream at once.
“Could my children be harmed?”
“We cannot answer that without testing.”
Melanie whispered, “Do they know where we are?”
Before anyone responded, every light in the hospital went dark.
An alarm began to scream.
Wyatt pulled me behind the bed.
Beckett drew his weapon.
Emergency power flickered on.
