Henry Collahan reappeared in the brothers' lives with a smile too polished to be honest. Suspiciously, the timing of his reappearance was just perfect: when the house was tense and everyone was distracted. He spoke in soft tones and gave sympathies, claimed he wanted to reconnect after "too many years lost to regret." Still, Misty felt uneasy the very moment she had shaken his hand. There was something not right in his eyes, something which wasn't in sync with his soft voice. Something cold and calculating was hiding behind the warm façade he portrayed, and her instincts had never been off before.
Roman didn't catch it; neither did Richard, since for him it was the face of an uncle whom he barely remembered.
Henry wandered the mansion as if he'd always lived there, asking casual questions about Misty-where she had lived before, who she used to work for, why she avoided certain subjects. To anyone else, it sounded innocently curious. But to Misty, it felt like she was being watched. Henry's gaze stayed on her a beat too long; his smiles were stretched a little too wide, his compliments a trifle rehearsed. She felt him stare at her from across the hall once and caught him when he didn't turn away fast enough. Roman dismissed her concerns, convincing her she was just stressed after all the commotion with Charles.
In private, Henry did a complete about-face. Behind locked doors, he made phone calls in the dead of night. He rummaged through drawers that were not his, crept down the halls with silent steps, committing its every nook and cranny to memory. He quizzed guards on things he had no business knowing, passing off his interest as small talk. One night, Misty caught him in the library, flipping through decades-old articles about unsolved crimes and missing children. When he realized she had seen him, he casually closed the book and acted like he was just looking for something to read.
Soon enough, Henry slid into an investigation of his own, one he did quietly and efficiently. He followed the trail of Misty's life with a rather unsettling precision: tracing old hospital records, foster care documentation, and missing person reports hardly available to anyone else. The deeper he searched, the more disturbed he became. Finally, when he found what he was looking for, his expression changed from curiosity to triumph. Misty wasn't just some girl with a messed-up past.
She was that missing child from that notorious blood farm underground that had ruined many lives before it got busted.
Ominous signs cropped up around the mansion: a lock on the garden door was broken one morning, though nobody admitted to being outside; footprints appeared beneath Misty's bedroom window, leading into the trees but never returning. At night, she felt watched, as though somebody stood in the dark just beyond her vision. Even the dogs barked at empty corners, alert and uneasy. Richard noticed the tension in her posture, but Roman dismissed her concerns as stress. He was far too occupied arguing with Charles and struggling with his own conflicted feelings ever to notice the danger creeping closer.
One evening, Misty was finally able to confront Roman directly: "Somebody is watching the house," she insisted. "Something is amiss. The lock, the window, the footsteps-this is not in my imagination."
Already nettled by messages from Charles, Roman sighed deeply and rubbed his forehead. "Misty, this place has more guards than a government office. If there was danger, we'd know." He didn't know just how deep his words cut. Misty walked away, feeling more alone than ever, unsure if it was the shadows outside she feared or the growing distance inside the house.
Henry watched it all from afar, glad that Misty's warnings meant nothing. The more Roman did not take her concerns seriously, the easier Henry's job became. Every day, he was able to navigate the mansion with ease, melting into the background until no one questioned his presence. Then night would fall, and for hours on end, he'd disappear to meetings that no brother knew about.
He was miles away by the time anyone noticed he was missing, speaking to men who should never have been contacted again. One of those nights, Henry parked his car behind an abandoned warehouse, stepping into the dark interior at a regular, unhurried clip.
The air smelled of rust and dust, and the silence was nearly palpable.
There was one figure waiting inside, lounging on a crate as if the place belonged to him. Ferdinand Marco lifted his head when Henry approached, revealing a face that wore too much history and far too much power. He didn't smile, but his eyes gleamed with recognition and with a promise of something dangerous. "Is it confirmed?" Ferdinand asked calmly. His voice was low and even and held the quiet confidence of a man who was accustomed to getting his way. Henry nodded and handed him a folder thick with documents and photographs. Ferdinand flipped through the pages slowly, his expression unreadable.
The moment he saw Misty's childhood photo, something dark flickered across his face.
"So the girl survived," he murmured. "I always wondered." Henry waited in silence while Ferdinand continued reading. When he reached the final page, he snapped the folder shut with deliberate force. "There's more," Henry said. "She's living with the Collahan brothers. They trust her. They don't know what she is." Ferdinand leaned back, considering what he'd been told with chilling calm. The shadows around him seemed to thicken as if reacting to his thoughts. Finally, he rose and walked over to Henry, laying a hand on his shoulder. "You've done well," he said. "Very well. Now we finish what should have been finished years ago." The words came quietly, but their intent was crystal clear. As Ferdinand walked towards the door, Henry followed him, the weight of what was to occur lying heavy in his stomach. Outside, the cold night air wrapped around them like a warning.
Ferdinand glanced skyward before speaking again. "Tell your nephews nothing. The girl must also remain unaware." Henry nodded quickly, knowing he would instantly follow such an order. Ferdinand opened the door of his car, pausing only long enough to issue the final truth of the night. "Misty is our target.
And this time, she won't escape."