A3.Ethan looked at her with wide, unblinking eyes, his mouth open as if trying to understand how a person could exist without a name.

Maya woke up tied to a wooden chair in the middle of a cold, drafty warehouse.

The smell of salt water, diesel fuel, and rusted iron filled the air. High above, the metal roof groaned against the freezing Atlantic wind. Her head throbbed violently from the chemical gas, but her mind was clear enough to recognize the dark figures standing near a portable heater fifteen feet away.

One of them was Richard Vance.

He was sipping cheap whiskey from a flask, his face red and sweating despite the cold. Standing beside him was Victor, one of Sterling’s senior corporate enforcers.

"She's awake," Victor noted, stepping over toward Maya.

Richard walked over, looking down at his niece with a mixture of guilt and bitter resentment. "Look at you," he sneered. "Dressed up in rich clothes like you're better than the rest of us. You forgot who took care of you after your father died!"

Maya raised her head, her gray eyes meeting her uncle’s gaze without a shred of fear. The child who had cowered under desks was gone. In her place was a girl who knew she was loved, a girl who belonged to Harrison Cross.

"You didn't take care of me," Maya said, her voice clear and firm. "You stole my father's money. You left me in the cold. And you're a coward, Richard."

Richard’s face flushed with rage, raising his hand to strike her. "Shut your mouth, you ungrateful little brat!"

"Touch her, and you die where you stand," a voice echoed from the shadows of the warehouse ceiling.

Richard froze, his hand hovering in mid-air.

The massive iron doors at the front of the warehouse were suddenly torn off their tracks by a heavy armored SUV smashing through them at sixty miles per hour. Glass, wood, and metal splinters exploded into the air as the SUV skidded to a halt in the center of the room.

Behind it, four black sedans screeched through the opening, deploying twenty heavily armed security enforcers who took tactical positions within three seconds.

From the passenger side of the armored vehicle stepped Harrison Cross.

He wore his dark wool coat, his face carved out of ice and vengeance. He didn't look at the armed enforcers, he didn't look at the warehouse—his eyes went straight to Maya.

"Are you hurt, Maya?" Harrison asked, his voice steady and warm amidst the lethal tension.

"I'm okay, Dad!" Maya called back, her heart soaring as she heard him call her his daughter.

Victor, Sterling’s enforcer, panicked. He drew his pistol and aimed it directly at Maya’s head. "Don't move, Cross! You step one inch closer, and I blow her brains out!"

Harrison didn't stop. He walked forward, step by heavy step, his hands in his coat pockets, looking at Victor as if he were nothing more than an insect under his boot.

"You have five seconds to lower that weapon," Harrison said calmly.

"I'll do it! I swear to God I'll do it!" Victor screamed, his finger tightening on the trigger.

Before Victor’s finger could pull back, a single suppressed shot echoed from the upper rafters of the warehouse.

A high-caliber sniper round from Vance’s team passed through Victor’s shoulder, spinning him around and dropping him screaming to the concrete floor. His gun skittered away across the ice.

Richard Vance dropped to his knees, throwing his hands over his head, sobbing hysterically. "Don't shoot! Don't shoot! It was Sterling! Sterling paid me! He made me do it!"

Harrison walked past the crying man without even looking down. He reached Maya, pulled a pocket knife from his vest, and sliced through the ropes binding her wrists and ankles.