Chapter 65: Break In

I stared at the phone screen, the blue light reflecting in the darkened hospital corridor. *Subject: Clara Sterling. Cryogenic Preservation.*

"She's going to make another one," I whispered, the words tasting like ash. "She's going to make another Leo."

Ben leaned over my shoulder, reading the text. His face was grim.

"St. Jude's," he said. "The fertility wing. It's been closed for renovations since 2010."

"That's why she picked it," I said. "No staff. No cameras. Just her and the tanks."

"We can't just walk in there," Mark said, joining us. He looked better, his ribs wrapped, his eyes clear. "If she has security..."

"She doesn't have security," I said. "Her accounts are frozen. Her mercenaries are gone. It's just her. And whatever desperation she has left."

"That makes her more dangerous," Lucia said.

We left Leo with the police guard and took the back exit. The city was waking up, the early morning traffic a low hum in the distance. We took the subway to avoid tracking, blending in with the commuters.

St. Jude's loomed ahead, a monolithic block of brick and glass. The main entrance was busy, but the old wing—the East Wing—was dark, covered in scaffolding and "Do Not Enter" signs.

"There," Ben said, pointing to a service door near the loading dock. "The lock is old. I can pick it."

We slipped through the shadows, moving like ghosts. Ben worked the lock, his hands steady despite the cold.

*Click.*

The door swung open.

The air inside was stale, smelling of construction dust and old disinfectant. We moved down the hallway, our footsteps muffled by the plastic sheeting covering the floor.

"The fertility lab is on the fourth floor," I whispered. "Room 408."

We took the stairs. One flight. Two. Three.

My legs burned, but I didn't stop. I couldn't stop. Edith was up there, holding the future of my family hostage.

We reached the fourth floor. The hallway was empty, a long tunnel of shadows.

But at the end of the hall, light spilled from beneath a door.

Room 408.

"Stay here," I told them. "She wants me. If you come in, she might panic."

"Sarah..." Ben started.

"Trust me," I said.

I walked down the hall, my heart hammering against my ribs. I reached the door.

It was unlocked.

I pushed it open.

The room was a laboratory, stripped of furniture but filled with equipment. Stainless steel tables. Microscopes. And against the back wall, a row of large, cylindrical tanks.

Nitrogen tanks.

Edith was standing in front of them.

She was wearing a white lab coat over her ruined dress, her hair wild and matted. She held a propane torch in one hand and a hammer in the other.

"You're late," she said, not turning around.

"Traffic was bad," I said, stepping into the room.

Edith turned. Her eyes were bloodshot, manic.

"Do you know what these are?" she asked, tapping the tank with the hammer. *Clang.*

"My grandmother's eggs," I said. "And Thorne's sperm."

"Potential," Edith corrected. "Pure, unadulterated potential. Leo was flawed. He had the sickness. But the next one... the next one will be perfect."

She lit the torch. The blue flame hissed in the silence.

"Put it down, Edith," I said. "It's over. The police are coming."

"Let them come," she said. "If I can't have the legacy, no one can."

She moved the flame toward the valve of the tank.

"Stop!" I yelled.

"Why?" she asked. "Do you care about them? They're just cells. Just biology."

"They're my family," I said. "And they're yours."

Edith laughed. "My family? My family betrayed me. My father lied to me. My sister was weak. My daughter... my daughter turned against me."

"I'm not your daughter," I said. "I'm your victim."

"You're my creation!" she screamed. "I made you! I molded you! I gave you everything!"

"You gave me nothing but trauma," I said. "And now I'm giving it back."

I reached into my pocket. Not for a gun. Not for a weapon.

For a lighter.

Ben's lighter.

"What are you doing?" Edith asked, the torch wavering.

I looked at the sprinkler head above me.

"You like fire, Edith?" I asked. "Let's see how you like water."

I flicked the lighter. I held it up to the sensor.

"No!" Edith shrieked.

She lunged at me with the hammer.

I didn't move. I held the flame steady.

The heat hit the sensor.

*Pop.*

The sprinkler exploded.

A torrent of black, stagnant water blasted down, drenching the room.

Edith slipped on the slick floor, crashing into the steel table. The torch flew from her hand, hissing as the water extinguished the flame.

I dropped the lighter.

"Now!" I yelled.

Ben, Mark, and Lucia burst into the room.

Edith scrambled to her feet, grabbing the hammer. She swung it at Ben, but he caught her arm. Mark grabbed the other. They pinned her to the table.

"Get off me!" she screamed, thrashing like a wild animal. "I am Edith Sterling! I own this hospital! I own you!"

"You own nothing," Lucia said, stepping forward. She looked down at the woman who had tried to buy her. "You're bankrupt, Edith. Moral and financial."

I walked to the tank. I checked the temperature gauge.

Still green. Still frozen.

"They're safe," I said.

I looked at Edith. She was sobbing now, a raw, ugly sound.

"Please," she begged. "Please don't take them. They're all I have left."

"No," I said. "You have a cell waiting for you."

Sirens wailed outside. The real police this time. Not her private security.

We dragged her out of the room, down the hall, and into the waiting arms of the officers.

As they cuffed her, she looked at me one last time. Her eyes were empty. Dead.

"You think you won," she whispered.

"I didn't win," I said. "I just survived."

We watched the police car drive away.

It was over.

Finally, truly over.

"So," Mark said, wiping water from his face. "What do we do with the tanks?"

I looked at my family. Ben. Mark. Lucia. Leo, waiting in the other hospital.

"We donate them," I said. "To people who actually want a family. Not a legacy."

We walked out of the hospital, into the morning sun.

But as we reached the street, I felt a vibration in my pocket.

My phone.

I pulled it out.

It was an email notification.

From Lawyer Vance.

*Subject: The Safe.*

*Sarah,*

*I opened the black box. The one from the nursery. There was a false bottom.*

*You need to see this.*

I opened the attachment.

It was a scan of a document. Old, yellowed paper.

A marriage certificate.

*Date: June 1, 1950.*
*Groom: Archibald Sterling.*
*Bride: Maria Elena Rodriguez.*

I stared at the screen.

1950. Decades before I was born.

Maria Elena wasn't the mistress.

She was the first wife.

And Edith... Edith wasn't adopted.

She was the mistress's daughter.

Archibald hadn't lied to protect Clara.

He had lied to protect *us*.

From her.