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“Approximately three years.”

Thomas closed his eyes.

Nathan crouched beside him.

“You know who he is.”

It wasn’t a question.

Thomas’s fingers began to tremble.

I had never seen him afraid—not when Ross’s men came after him, not when the boathouse burned, and not when we entered Blackwater to rescue Mom.

But he was afraid now.

“Thomas,” I said gently. “Who was wearing Grandpa’s ring?”

His eyes opened.

Pain filled them.

Along with a secret he had carried far too long.

“His name was Jonathan.”

Mom stepped closer.

“Jonathan who?”

Thomas looked at each of us before his gaze settled on me.

“Jonathan Sinclair.”

The waves continued breaking behind us.

Slow.

Steady.

As if nothing had changed.

But everything had.

Grandpa never told us he had a brother.

And someone had murdered him inside Blackwater.

2

CALLE

“Some secrets protect a family. Others quietly poison it.”

—James Sinclair

“Grandpa didn’t have a brother.”

Mom’s voice barely carried above the waves.