Isabella's heart pounded as she clutched the USB drive from Noah's loft, its weight as heavy as Clara's journal in her other hand. The text—You're too late. The truth is out—echoed in her mind, a chilling confirmation of Lena's pursuit and Noah's car crash. The Brooklyn loft's grimy windows cast jagged shadows, and the distant wail of sirens signaled the chaos closing in. Her cherry-red lips were set in a defiant line, her hazel eyes locked on Julian, his gray eyes a storm of resolve and fear. His hand rested on her lower back, a steady warmth that sparked memories of their searing kiss, a fire that burned despite the danger.
"We need to find Noah," Isabella said, her voice steel despite the grief clawing at her chest. "If he's hurt—or worse—those files are our only shot at the truth." Clara's journal, with its evidence of Vincent Blackwood's Willow Creek deals, tied her mother's death to a conspiracy that now threatened them all.
Julian's jaw clenched, his thumb brushing her hip, a subtle spark that grounded her. "We'll get him," he said, his voice low, raw. "But Lena's not playing games. If she's got people out there, we're targets." His eyes flicked to Detective Lauren Hayes, whose badge glinted as she scanned the loft, her radio crackling with updates on the crash.
Lauren's blue eyes were sharp, her voice crisp. "Noah's crash wasn't random. My team's on scene—wreck's bad, but he's alive. Hospitalized. We need to get to him before Lena does." She glanced at Isabella, softening. "Your mother's case haunted me, Voss. I'm not letting this go."
Lily, her red hair tangled, stepped forward, her green eyes wide with fear. "Noah trusted me," she said, her voice trembling. "If he's hurt because of me…" Her words trailed off, and Sophia placed a steady hand on her shoulder.
"It's not your fault," Sophia said, her sharp features set in determination. "Vincent's the one pulling strings. Lena's just his attack dog." She glanced at Riley, who was uploading photos from her camera to a secure drive. "You got anything on that crash?"
Riley's cropped black hair bobbed as she nodded. "Caught a shot of the car that hit Noah—black SUV, same as Vincent's." Her voice was dry, but her eyes were fierce. "Someone's cleaning up."
Daniel, his gun holstered but ready, growled, "We move now. Hospital's our best shot." He glanced at Isabella, his weathered face softening. "Clara'd be proud of you, kid. Keep fighting."
Before they could leave, the loft's door creaked open, revealing a new figure—a man, late 30s, with a wiry frame, tousled dark hair, and a hacker's slouch, his fingers tapping nervously on a tablet. His brown eyes flicked to Isabella, a mix of caution and curiosity. "I'm Caleb Wren," he said, his voice quick, clipped. "Noah's tech guy. He sent me a panic signal before the crash. Said you've got something—Clara's journal, a USB—that could take down Vincent Blackwood."
Isabella's grip on the USB tightened, her cherry-red lips curling warily. "You're with Noah?" she said, her voice sharp. "How do we know you're not with Lena?"
Caleb's smile was crooked, nervous. "Noah's my friend. He's been digging into Willow Creek for years—your mother's crash, Vincent's deals. I've got his backups." He held up the tablet, showing a encrypted file labeled Voss Case. "But Lena's got eyes everywhere. We need to move."
Julian's hand slid to Isabella's waist, his touch possessive, grounding. "Prove it," he said, his voice a growl. "What's on that tablet?"
Caleb tapped the screen, revealing grainy footage of a younger Vincent meeting Isabella's father, Thomas Voss, in a Willow Creek diner. "This is from Clara's files," he said. "She recorded it before she died. Vincent was laundering money through land deals. Your father was in on it, Isabella."
Isabella's heart stopped, her mother's journal burning in her hands. "My father?" she whispered, her voice breaking. The betrayal cut deeper than she'd expected, a wound reopened. Julian's arm tightened around her, his lips brushing her temple, a silent vow that sent warmth through her despite the pain. "You're not him," he murmured, his voice soft but fierce. "You're stronger."
Lauren's radio crackled again, a voice reporting Lena's car spotted near the hospital. "We're out of time," she said, her voice urgent. "Noah's vulnerable. If Lena gets to him, those files are gone."
Isabella's eyes met Julian's, her cherry-red lips trembling but resolute. "We go," she said, her voice steel. "For Clara. For the truth." His hand cupped her face, his thumb grazing her lips, a spark of heat that promised they'd face this together.
As they piled into Lauren's car, Caleb trailing with his tablet, the city's pulse thrummed around them. The hospital loomed ahead, its lights stark against the night. But as they approached, a figure stood in the parking lot—Marcus Tate, Mara's brother, his scarred face grim, a phone in his hand. Isabella's phone buzzed with a new text: Noah talks, you all burn. Hand over the journal, or the hospital's next. Her blood ran cold, and she gripped Julian's hand, the truth a flame ready to engulf them all.