Anthony Morrison realized Vivienne had planned to betray everyone the second he saw the timestamp.
He was standing in the private lounge of the Nova Scotia ferry terminal safehouse—if "safehouse" could even describe the cold luxury prison Vivienne had dragged him into—when the live feed replayed across the television again.
The little girl.
The dock.
Vivienne's calm smile.
"If you want answers, come alone."
Anthony stared harder.
Then suddenly lunged for the remote.
Pause.
Zoom.
Timestamp.
His stomach dropped.
"…No."
The footage wasn't live.
The metadata flickered in the lower corner for half a second before the news station cropped it away.
Three months old.
Anthony slowly looked toward the hallway where Vivienne had disappeared earlier.
"She prerecorded it."
One of the guards glanced over nervously.
Anthony laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because suddenly everything made horrifying sense.
The Switzerland leak.
The Nova Scotia coordinates.
