Xavier's eyes snapped open as the shrill ring of his phone shattered the night's silence. Lying next to him, Cathleen's silhouette was tense even in sleep—like a coiled spring, ready to unleash fury at the slightest provocation. He slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb her precarious serenity.

"Talk to me," he rasped into the phone, his voice laced with gravelly slumber.

"Sir, you need to come downstairs. I found the woman who delivered the juice to Cathleen." Caleb's voice was urgent, a tinge of excitement belying his professional facade.

Xavier grunted an acknowledgment, his pulse quickening. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing away the deceptive tranquility of...