"Sign here," Everlee said flatly, sliding two crisp forms across the café table. Miles Berg blinked. Luca's fingers went still around his coffee cup. Hallow Lane's mid-morning clatter wrapped the bistro: the hiss of espresso, a stroller, a woman laughing too loud. It could have been ordinary. Everlee had never been ordinary. "What's this?" Miles asked. He kept his voice low, hard-edged. He had Everlee's jaw and none of her patience. "A gag order?" "Severance," she said. "And an invoice." She pushed another paper across the table. The top line read: Itemized Damages — Twenty Years. Underneath, neat columns: infant care, lost wages, hospital bills, legal fees, Bullying & Reputation Rehabilitation, Psychological Therapy, Emergency Surgery — Luca (2005), Lost Income — Twin Support After School to Present. Each entry had dates, receipts, sums. At the bottom, bold: TOTAL: $2,487,350.00. The bistro fell away for a beat. A barista in a tight apron looked over; a girl at the next table stifled a smile. Miles's mouth flattened. "You can't be serious," he said. He thumbed his phone. "Who—who put you up to this?" "I did," Everlee said. She didn't smile. She never smiled when she meant business. "I've added interest. Administration fee for your father's lawyers. There's a payment schedule attached. Sign on the line." Luca swallowed. His hands were too small in his coat pockets; he had always folded his fingers like a child trying not to be noticed. He loved piano the