Norah can't move. Can't breathe. Can't think.
Emma.
Her sister. Her dead sister. Standing right in front of her like the past twelve years never happened.
"You're not real," Norah whispers. Her voice sounds broken. Foreign. "You can't be real."
The woman takes a step closer. In the moonlight, Norah can see her face clearly now. Older. More tired. But it's Emma's face. The same green eyes. The same small scar above her left eyebrow from when she fell off her bike at nine years old.
"I know what this looks like," the woman says. Emma says. Her voice is the same too. "But I'm here. I'm real. I never died."
Marco moves between them, knife still in his hand. "Who the hell are you really?"
"Emma Sutherland." She doesn't take her eyes off Norah. "I'm her sister. The one who supposedly died of leukemia twelve years ago."
"Supposedly?" Norah's legs feel weak. She reaches out, grabs a headstone for support. The marble is cold under her palm. Solid. Real. More real than this moment.
"Dad faked my death." Emma's voice cracks. "He had to. It was the only way."
"The only way for what?" Norah's words come out harsh. Angry. "The only way to make me think you were dead? The only way to let me mourn you for twelve years?"
"The only way to keep you safe." Emma takes another step closer. "Both of us safe."
Norah shakes her head. This isn't happening. "Mom said you were sick for months. That you—" She stops. Can't finish the sentence.
"Mom believed what Dad told her to believe." Emma's expression is gentle. Sad. "She was drinking so much by then. She didn't question it. Didn't look too closely at the hospital records Dad fabricated."
"But the funeral." Norah's voice breaks completely now. "I was there. I watched them lower your casket into the ground. I threw dirt on top of it. I—" The tears come fast. Hot. Unstoppable. "I visit your grave every year on your birthday. I bring you flowers."
"I know." Emma's crying too now. Tears streaming down her face. "God, Norah, I know. And I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
"Sorry?" The word explodes out of Norah. "You let me think you were dead!"
"I didn't have a choice." Emma's voice is urgent now. Desperate. "Dad realized what he'd gotten into. The trafficking. The murders. All of it. He knew if the Calabrias ever decided to use us against him, we'd be dead. Both of us. So he made me disappear. Gave me a new name. A new life. Made everyone think I died."
"Even me." Norah's voice is barely a whisper. "You made me think you were dead."
"Especially you." Emma wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. "Because if you knew I was alive, you'd look for me. And if the Calabrias ever suspected, they'd torture you to find me. Or use me to hurt you. Dad couldn't risk it."
"Where have you been?" she asks. "All this time. Where?"
"Baltimore." Emma's answer is quiet. "Three blocks from your apartment. I work at Sacred Heart. As a nurse. Under the name Sarah Mitchell."
The world tilts.
"Sacred Heart." Norah's laugh sounds hysterical. "The hospital where I'm a chaplain. You've been—we've been in the same building?"
"Yes." Emma doesn't look away. "I've seen you. In the cafeteria. In the hallways. You never looked at me twice. Why would you? I was just another nurse in scrubs."
Norah feels like she's drowning. "Did you watch me? All this time?"
"Every day." Emma's voice breaks. "Dad made me promise. He said if anything happened to him, if the Calabrias ever came for you, I needed to be ready. So I watched. I learned your routines. Your friends. Your life. I was always close enough to help if you needed me."
"But you never did." The words taste bitter. "You watched me grieve you. Watched me talk to your grave. And you never once told me the truth."
"I couldn't." Emma takes another step. She's close enough to touch now. "Don't you understand? The only way to keep you safe was to let you believe I was dead. If you knew—if you even suspected—you'd have looked different. Acted different. And the Calabrias would have seen it. They see everything."
Norah wants to scream. Wants to hit something. Wants to run until her legs give out and she wakes up from this nightmare.
Instead, she just stands there. Shaking. Crying. Staring at her dead sister who isn't dead at all.
"Prove it," she says finally. "Prove you're really Emma."
Emma's face softens. "You want me to tell you something only Emma would know?"
"Yes."
"Okay." Emma wipes her eyes again. "When you were seven, you broke your arm trying to do a flip off the swing set in our backyard. I carried you inside while you screamed. Mom was passed out on the couch. Dad was at work. So I drove you to the hospital even though I was only fourteen and didn't have a license."
"Anyone could know that." Norah's voice is hard. "That's in medical records."
"You named your goldfish Margaret Thatcher." Emma's smile is sad. "You were obsessed with her for some reason. Read about her in a book at school. When the fish died, you hid the body in Mom's good purse because you thought if Mom found it, she'd bring Margaret back to life somehow."
Norah's breath catches. She never told anyone that story. Never.
"I missed you," Norah chokes out. "Every single day. I missed you so much."
"I missed you too." Emma's whole body is shaking. "You have no idea how many times I almost told you. Almost walked up to you at the hospital and said something. But I couldn't. I couldn't risk it."
Norah pulls back enough to look at her sister's face. "Why now? Why tell me now?"
Emma's expression hardens. "Because three months ago, I saw them watching you. Following you. Taking photos. I knew what it meant. Dad told me about the blood debt before he died. Said if the Calabrias ever came for you, it meant they were ready to collect."
"You knew." Norah's voice is flat. "You knew they were hunting me and you didn't warn me?"
"I tried." Emma grabs Norah's shoulders. "I left notes. Sent anonymous emails. I even hired someone to tail you for protection. But you didn't listen. You thought you were safe. Thought your father's old debts didn't matter anymore."
"They shouldn't have mattered." Norah's anger flares again. "Dad's been dead for ten years. The debt should have died with him."
"That's not how it works with the Calabrias." Emma's voice is urgent. "Blood debts don't expire. They pass down. Generation to generation. You were always going to pay for what Dad did."
Marco clears his throat. They both jump. They'd forgotten he was there.
"Hate to break up the reunion," he says. His voice is tight. Controlled. "But we need to move. The Volkovs will have heard that gunshot. They'll send people to investigate."
As if on cue, a dog barks in the distance.
Emma's face goes pale. "They're already here."
"Who?" Norah asks.
"Volkov's men." Emma stands up, pulling Norah with her. "They track by sound. By heat. They work fast and they don't leave witnesses."
The dog barks again. Closer now.
"We need to run." Emma's looking around, calculating. "My apartment is three blocks from here. It's off the books. Safe. We can hide there until we figure out what to do next."
"How do we know we can trust you?" Marco demands.
Emma looks at him. "You don't. But those men coming with the dogs? They'll torture you for information, then kill you slowly. So you can come with me and maybe survive. Or stay here and definitely die. Your choice."
The barking gets louder. Multiple dogs now. Multiple handlers.
Norah looks at Marco. He looks back. Some kind of silent communication passes between them.
"We go," Marco decides.
Emma nods. "Stay close. Stay quiet. And whatever happens, don't stop running."
They turn toward the cemetery gate—
And freeze.
Through the fog rolling across the grass, shapes appear. Three men in tactical gear. Black uniforms. Night vision goggles. Two massive German Shepherds straining at leashes, teeth bared.
Volkov soldiers.
The lead man raises something to his face. A thermal scope. He points it at them. Sweeps left to right.
Then smiles.
"Going somewhere?"
His accent is thick. Russian.
The dogs pull at their leashes, snarling. Wanting blood.
Marco's hand moves slowly toward his knife. The soldier with the scope makes a clicking sound with his tongue.
"I wouldn't. We have rifles trained on all three of you."
Emma steps forward. Puts herself between Norah and the soldiers. "Let them go. Take me instead."
"Noble." The soldier's smile widens. "But our orders are for all three. The girl, the sister, and whoever this—" He gestures at Marco. "—is supposed to be."
"You don't want to do this," Emma says. Her voice is steady now. Strong. "Kill us here and you start a war."
"We're already at war." The soldier gestures to his men. "Take them."
The dogs lunge forward.
Marco explodes into motion—
"RUN!" he roars.
Emma grabs Norah's hand and yanks her backward. They stumble over a grave marker. Norah's twisted ankle screams in protest but she keeps moving.
Behind them, gunfire erupts. Men shouting. Dogs barking.
Emma pulls her between two tall monuments. "This way. Don't stop."
They run.
Through fog and shadows and graves. Norah's heart hammers so hard she thinks it might burst. Her lungs burn. Her ankle throbs with every step.
But she doesn't stop.
Can't stop.
Because behind them, the dogs are coming.
And this time, there's nowhere left to hide.