THE CHRYSANTHEMUM BOX: SECRETS BENEATH THE CHRISTMAS TREE AND THE UNFORGIVEN PAST

The heavy metal door at the top of the spiral staircase banged open against the concrete wall with a deafening crash. Marcus appeared at the top of the steps, his face dark with murderous rage, his dark brown blazer torn at the shoulder where he had forced his way past a locked security gate upstairs. In his right hand, he clutched a heavy brass fireplace poker, its tip stained with soot and old ash.

Julian didn't even flinch at Marcus's sudden, violent entrance. He simply turned his head toward the staircase, his hands remaining casually tucked inside the pockets of his charcoal suit.

"Calm down, Marcus," Julian said, his voice dripping with cool condescension. "Brandishing a fireplace poker in a subterranean bunker doesn't suit your age or your dwindling legal options. The police are already two miles away, alerted by an automated distress signal triggered when the East Wing window was smashed."

Marcus froze halfway down the metal steps, his chest heaving as he stared at Julian and then over at Ava, who stood trembling beside the metal desk. The poker shook in his grip, the heavy metal clinking against the concrete railing.

"You called the authorities?" Marcus snarled, his voice cracking with panic. "Are you out of your mind, Julian? An audit of this bunker destroys all of us! We go down for kidnapping, human trafficking, and corporate fraud!"

"Only if we stay here to take the blame," Julian replied smoothly, stepping toward the main control console and pressing a heavy master override button on the primary server tower.

A loud, ear-piercing siren began to wail throughout the underground chamber, flashing red warning lights pulsing across the rows of server racks and monitors. Across the room, the heavy iron security door leading to the subterranean cell block unlocked automatically with a sharp pneumatic hiss.

Ava bolted toward the open cell door before either man could react. She sprinted down the narrow concrete corridor, ignoring the blaring siren, until she reached the glass-paneled cell where the original Nia sat trapped under her gray blanket.

Ava slammed her hands against the reinforced glass window, shouting over the wailing alarm. "Nia! Can you hear me?"

The girl inside slowly raised her head. Her dark curly hair fell around a face that was an exact, unblemished replica of Ava’s own reflection. Nia stood up from the narrow cot, walking slowly toward the glass until her hand pressed flat against the transparent panel, aligning perfectly with Ava’s palm on the opposite side.

"They're running out of time," Nia said, her voice raspy from years of silence, yet carrying an unmistakable steel core of determination. "And so are we."