Page 166 of The Final Cut

“And if something changes?”

“My phone rings. Nash’s phone rings. Ever’s system screams loudly enough to wake the dead.”

“That last part is true,” Ever says without looking up.

Reva takes a breath, her ribs expanding against my arm.

Nash waits until she nods once before beginning.

His gaze goes to Delia. “Have you had contact with Marisol?”

Reva goes still in my lap.

Delia’s hand stops on Homer’s back. “Yes.”

“When?”

“Forty minutes ago. Check-in text.”

Ever’s eyes lift. “Wording?”

Delia pulls her phone from the pocket of her borrowed sweatpants and reads from the screen. “‘Candle still lit. Storm seems to be passing over us. Tell your sister I am sorry for the weather.’”

Reva lets out a small, humorless laugh. “That is both weird and dramatic.”

Delia studies the message. “It means she’s alive, unwatched enough to mention Reva, and thinks Isabel is occupied elsewhere,” Delia says.

“Does Isabel know she left?” Nash asks.

“Probably.”

“Does she know Marisol reached Reva?”

Delia hesitates. I don’t like the hesitation.

“Maybe,” she says. “Maybe not. Isabel has always allowed Mother small freedoms when she thinks they cost nothing. Hospital visits to certain donors. Charity committees. Condolence calls. Things that make her useful and visible.”

Reva looks away, and my arms tighten before I think better of it.

Nash’s expression remains controlled. “The attack on Shiloh’s vehicle. Was it linked to Marisol?”

“No,” Ever says before Delia can answer. “Timeline is wrong. The tail was in position before Marisol left the chapel. They picked up movement at the hospital. Likely watching for Reva, Deacon, or any unscheduled Blackwood activity.”

Shiloh folds his arms. “Or all three, because Isabel believes in overachievement.”

Ever ignores him. “The surviving phones had no outgoing burst after Marisol appeared on any camera I could access. No indication the hit team knew she was in the building.”

“That does not mean Isabel doesn’t know now,” Nash says.

“No.”

Delia’s jaw tightens. “If she knew for certain, the text would not have come through. Mother would already be locked down or corrected.”

Reva’s fingers dig into my shirt. The room absorbs the word. Corrected. No one asks Delia to explain.

Nash looks at me. “Can we extract Marisol?”

Deacon answers. “Yes.”