The baby was crying inside a locked hospital chapel.

The heavy iron gates of the Oakridge compound opened with a slow, mechanical groan as Claire drove her sedan up the gravel driveway.

Two armed security guards in plain black uniforms stood near the guardhouse, watching her vehicle with silent, watchful eyes. They didn't ask for identification; Nolan had already cleared her entry.

Claire parked in front of a sprawling, modern glass-and-timber structure nestled against the pine trees. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird, but her face remained impassive as she stepped out of the car carrying her leather medical bag.

The front door opened before she reached the steps.

Nolan Mercer stood in the entryway. He was dressed in a gray cashmere sweater and dark trousers, looking relaxed, welcoming, and entirely unbothered by the storm brewing around him.

"Claire," he said gently, stepping forward to offer his hands. "I knew you would come. I’m sorry about the message earlier. Things have been... chaotic."

Claire carefully avoided his touch, stepping past him into the marble foyer. "Where is she, Nolan?"

Nolan sighed, closing the heavy oak door behind her. "I assume you’re referring to Tessa."

"I’m referring to Tessa Lane, and I’m referring to Twin B," Claire said, turning to face him. "The baby girl you took from her before she fled to St. Anne’s."

Nolan’s warm smile faded slightly, replaced by a cold, analytical stillness. He walked over to a small bar cart, pouring himself a glass of sparkling water.

"You always were too sharp for your own good, Claire," he murmured softly. "That’s what drew me to you at the charity gala last year. You have a brilliant mind. But you’re looking at this through a very narrow moral lens."

"A narrow lens?!" Claire exclaimed, her voice echoing in the grand foyer. "You impregnate vulnerable women under false names, track their pregnancies through your private charity, and select their children like spare parts for a biological registry!"

Nolan set his glass down with a soft click.

"Do you know how many children die every year waiting for pediatric bone marrow and organ matches, Claire?" he asked, his voice steady, rational, and completely devoid of empathy. "The public system is slow, inefficient, and broken. Bright Tomorrow doesn't just give housing to desperate mothers—it creates life. Life that saves other lives. The recipients are families who contribute millions to medical research. I am simply bridging the gap between demand and supply."

"You are a predator," Claire whispered, horrified by the absolute conviction in his voice. "Where is the baby?"

"Twin B—we call her Subject 19-B—is down in the medical suite," Nolan said smoothly. "She is currently being prepared for a stem-cell harvest. A six-year-old child in Chicago whose family donated eight million dollars to our research foundation is arriving by helicopter in forty minutes."

Claire reached into her coat pocket, her fingers finding the small toggle on the pediatric RFID reader. She clicked the switch to ON.

A tiny digital display on the handheld device lit up, flashing a bright blue signal:

TAG MATCH DETECTED — SIGNAL STRENGTH: 98% (SUB-LEVEL 1)

Claire looked straight into Nolan’s eyes, her jaw locked.