The soft clinking of cutlery and the warm scent of roasted vegetables filled the Denovan dining room. Sunlight poured in through the tall windows, bathing the table in a soft glow. Mr. Denovan sat at the head of the table, slicing into a piece of grilled chicken. His wife sat beside him, carefully spooning sauce onto her plate.

Anika was at the far end, giggling at something she saw on her tablet while nibbling on a piece of bread.

It was a quiet, pleasant lunch—until the front door opened and footsteps echoed down the hallway.

Colton stepped into the dining room, still in his sharp black suit, looking like he’d...