But couldn’t we say the same things about ourselves? We’ve hurt each other. We’ve killed.

The difference between us and Evans Crist, though, is that he acted out of greed and a lust for power. We’ve always acted out of what we thought was service to our family. Our true family. Evans barely acts with consideration for his wife and Michael. He won’t care about the rest of us. I don’t want Mads and Ivar anywhere near him.

Slowly, Michael nods.

“And I don’t want his name,” I add.

He stills, his eyes slowly rising to meet mine.

I know he probably feels targeted so far in this meeting, but I need it out, and better sooner than later. I’m not changing my name when we marry.

His chest rises and falls slow and steady, but I can tell he’s fucking pissed. “I want you to have the same last name as your children.”

“I will.”

My heart pounds, because I don’t want to hurt him, but I can’t bend on this. It’s something I’ve thought a lot about. Why should I have to change my name? Who made that rule anyway? My father was a good man who left no sons to carry on the name. He deserves this.

My last words hang in the air as no one breathes at the table, and Michael stares at me, the growing anger playing behind his eyes. I know I’m asking a lot. He was born with a name he thought he’d carry his entire life. He doesn’t have to change his.

But I’m not changing mine. Michael and I are locked, but neither of us says more, probably because we don’t know what to say. He either wants to yell and doesn’t want to do it here, or he wants to throttle me.

“Al…right,” Kai stammers, and I know he’s glancing between Michael and me. “We’ll… come back to that, then.”

Everyone shifts around the table, but Michael won’t look away first, so I do. I’ll let him have that.

“Will…” Kai says, moving onto the next subject. “What do we know?”

Misha sits up. “The last text I got from him was months—”

“Forget texts,” Kai states, looking around the table. “When was the last time we had a visual on him?”

“Thirteen months.”

We turn to Damon, his whisper hanging in the air as he rolls an unlit cigarette between his fingers.

“And twelve days,” Alex adds. “He video called.”

Thirteen months. I blink long and hard. Thirteen fucking months.

“And we can rule out he’s not dead, because his parents aren’t worried,” I tell them.

Misha pulls something out of his breast pocket and unfolds it, setting it down on the table. Damon immediately snatches it.

“What’s this?” he asks, inspecting the sheet.

“A list of males from wealthy and prominent families who have fallen off the grid and reappeared over the past thirty years,” Misha explains.

Damon scoffs, flinging the paper over to Michael. “We usually deal in digital files here in the twenty-first century.”

Michael takes the paper, scanning it.

“And what good is interviewing a bunch of middle-aged dudes going to do?” Damon continues. “A. They won’t talk. No one talks about Blackchurch. And B. The location changes. Even if they did talk, they wouldn’t know where it was anymore.”

“Maybe the location doesn’t change,” Misha argues. “Maybe that’s part of the story they tell us. And maybe Warner… Stratford… Walmart Cunningham III can give us a lead. Something useful. Unless you have a better idea?”

“His grandfather,” Winter chimes in. “He’s the one who probably put him there to begin with, right?”

Michael turns to Alex, plotting the next step. “Can you get in?”

She laughs under her breath. “I don’t know why you think these men divulge state secrets to their whores.”

“Because it’s worked before.” Damon grins, teasing her. “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

But I sit up. “No.”

They all look at me.

“We’re not using Alex like that,” I explain.

At some point, she’ll finish her graduate degree, get a new job, and what will we do then when we can’t pimp her out? I’m not sending her to that old man.

“Besides,” I go on. “Men like him don’t handle the details themselves anyway.”

“His assistant, then,” Kai says. “Jack Munro. He’ll know everything.”

“And if he won’t talk?” Misha retorts.

“I’m sure information is more forthcoming when you want to put someone in there instead of take them out,” Alex mumbles.

The table falls silent, but I see a slight smile curl Michael’s lips.

“What?” I ask.

He quickly hides his smile and shrugs. “Nothing.”

But I watch him for a moment. He’s thinking something.

Alex draws in a breath. “I’ll ingratiate myself to Senator Grayson’s assistant as soon as Conclave concludes.” And she meets my gaze before I can say anything. “I’m doing it, Rika.”

I swallow my argument, not happy putting her into the position, but it’s Will, and I know she’ll do whatever it takes at this point.

Winter sets her hand on the table. “And if we find Blackchurch, and he’s there, how do we get him out?”

“We need to know what kind of fortress we’re dealing with first,” Banks tells her. “If the stories are true, they’ll have free run of the house and grounds. If we’re able to get to them, then they’re also able to get to us.”

The table falls silent as Banks looks around at each of us.

“There’s a reason Blackchurch is like that,” she continues. “Why it’s not simply a luxury spa with locked cages and guards. Why they’re left alone as if they’re dogs thrown into a pit to eat or be eaten.”

Images flash in my mind of what she’s describing, and how, at this moment, Will could be sitting in that place. My head falls.

“They’ve burned their bridges and decided not to be part of a family,” Banks goes on, “so now they’ll learn their place in the natural order.”

The natural order. Tough love on crack. They have their needs provided for. Food, shelter, medical attention, if needed… But otherwise, they’re completely alone and…at each other’s mercy.

“They will have resorted to base instinct,” Banks tells us. “Their lives are about survival now. The rest of the world does not exist anymore. They’re a system of their own with rules and laws…” She pauses. “And consequences.”

She might know more about Blackchurch since Gabriel considered sending Damon, or she might just know what happens to dogs in cages. Either way, I know everything she says is true.

“They’re hoarding food,” she says, “each one of them fighting for their share. They’re forming alliances to protect each other, and they will have made weapons with whatever’s laying around.”

My chest constricts.

“There will be an alpha,” she continues, “and Will…will not be it.”

None of us speak as, I’m sure, everyone’s mind is going to the same place as mine. Imagining Will and what he’s possibly living through right now. Those men are not his friends. Will isn’t strong by himself.