Page 106 of Beyond Protection
Claire occupied the corner near the kitchen. Straight-backed. Hands folded. But present. Fully present.
The Christmas tree blinked in the corner—red and green lights reflecting off decades of mismatched ornaments.
Holiday cheer and crime scene photos existed in the same cramped space.
Claire stood. Crossed the room.
Picked up one of the journal pages from the evidence pile.
Her hands trembled as she read. When she looked up, her voice came out flat. She spoke like she was holding back something enormous.
"She treated you like an object of study." Each word precise. "That's not conservation. It's desecration."
I'd never seen my mother angry, not like this.
Claire Akiyama McCabe, who taught that you should refine your emotions like clay, who believed in discipline and restraint and beauty through control—she was shaking. Her hands. Her voice.
Because someone had written a manual for breaking her son.
The room was silent.
Ma's voice cut through. Blunt. Uncompromising. "That means we stop her. Nobody damages my family."
I moved deeper into the room. Michael was already pulling up maps. Marcus fielded a call from Clairmont. Matthew scrolled through something on his phone.
They'd all dropped everything. Reorganized their lives.
For me.
I wasn't alone.
A pang of guilt shot through me.
Your family's safety is not guaranteed if they stand between us.
Six days until December eighteenth.
"Mac?" Eamon's voice. Quiet. Just for me.
I turned.
"Yeah?"
"We're going to end this."
I wanted to believe him.
Wanted to believe the McCabe chaos, holiday lights, and stubborn love filling the house would be enough.
"Okay," I said. It was the best I could offer.
Around us, the family kept moving. Planning. Preparing for war.
The Christmas tree lights blinked on. Off. On.
Six days until December eighteenth.
Somewhere in Seattle, Vanessa Kensington was watching. Waiting.
