Brooke was too weak to fight back, and sudden chaos could put Jonah in danger.

I needed a surgical extraction — the victims out of the blast radius before I detonated anything. I needed someone on the inside.

I dialed my older sister, Paige, in Scottsdale, twenty minutes away. She answered on the third ring, breezy and distracted. “Hey, Trav. Can’t talk long, I’m at the garden center looking at hydrangeas. What’s up?”

“Paige,” I said, and my voice sounded like it came from the bottom of a well. “Listen to me very carefully.”

She went still. “Travis? What’s wrong? Is it the baby? Is Brooke okay?”

“Brooke is not okay. And it’s because of Mom.”