Lara's hand trembled over the phone, the fear spreading through her chest like an ink stain as she read the message once more.
"If Cem comes to tomorrow's meeting, your mother dies. Come alone, Lara. Art should stay in the family."
Zeynep watched her from across the room, her own drunkenness mixing with shock until her face was chalk-white. "What does it say?"
Lara showed her the phone, words knotting in her throat. Zeynep's breath came sharp with anger as she read.
"Who the hell is this Collector to threaten you with your mother? And Cem—" Zeynep's voice cracked. "God, Lara. What mess have we gotten into?"
A knock at the door. Both jumped.
"I'm not answering," Lara said, but her voice lacked conviction. Her heart drummed against her ribs.
"Lara." Cem's voice came through the door, somber and weary. "Please. I know you learned a lot, but we need to talk."
"Go to hell!" Zeynep lunged toward the door but Lara stopped her.
Something inside her—that damned, illogical thing—wanted to see him. To look at his face, search his eyes for truth. Perhaps with the stupidity of the girl he'd used as bait, she still thought she could understand him.
When she opened the door, Cem stood at the threshold, shirt wrinkled, hair disheveled, purple circles beneath his eyes. When he looked at her, something in Lara contracted painfully.
*No. Don't feel. Don't trust him.*
"You have three minutes," she said icily. "Then I'm calling security."
Cem entered, glanced at Zeynep. "Can we talk privately?"
"Never," Zeynep snapped. "You see what you've done to her? You *used* her—"
"Zeynep." Lara's voice was surprisingly calm. "Could you step out for a minute?"
"Lara, are you insane—"
"Please."
When Zeynep left cursing, Lara kept a safe distance from Cem. But the room suddenly felt too small, the air too thin.
"The Collector sent a message," Lara said without showing him the phone. "I need to meet him alone tomorrow. Or he'll kill my mother."
Cem's jaw tightened. "No. Absolutely not. You're not going to that meeting—"
"Who are you to order me around?" Lara's voice climbed. "You got close enough to use me as bait, remember? To endanger my mother's life so I'd bring you the Codex?"
"I *planned* to, yes." Cem stepped forward, eyes blazing. "But you changed everything. You—"
"Don't lie!" Tears pooled in Lara's eyes. "You used everything I told you. When I let you touch me, when I kissed you, when I opened up to you—it was all part of your plan."
"That's how it started." Cem's voice was hoarse. "God as my witness, that's how it started. But then I got to know you. I saw your independence, your boldness, that damned purity of yours. And I realized I could never—"
"Stop!" Lara covered her ears with her hands. "I don't want to hear it. Not your feelings, not your regrets. You're a *liar*. Everything was a lie."
Cem reached out, gently grasped her wrists, tried to lower them. Lara resisted but his fingers were too warm, too familiar.
"Listen," he whispered. "Lara, look at me. *Please*."
And her damned brain refused but her body betrayed her, lifting her eyes to meet his. The pain in Cem's eyes was so naked, so raw, it stole her breath.
"I was going to use you," Cem said, each word a confession. "But this—you touching me, looking at me, letting me see you—*this* was real. I swear it was real."
"How can I believe you?" Lara's voice broke. "How would I know what was real?"
Cem raised his hand to her cheek, to the tear. His thumb brushed it away so softly. "Because I'm here right now. Telling you the truth, even knowing it could destroy everything. Because now I'd rather see the plan, the Codex, everything ruined than lose you."
Lara felt the war inside her—between the foolish, hopeful part that wanted to believe him and the part that needed to listen to her logic, her anger, her hurt.
"The Collector wants me," she said quietly. "Why?"
Cem pulled back, ran his hand through his hair. "Because you're your mother's daughter. Because talent runs in your blood. And because—" He hesitated.
"What?"
"Because whoever finds the Codex must be heir to the Manuscript. Someone from a pure bloodline. And your mother..." Cem looked at her. "Your mother comes from the last member of a noble family of art thieves. Your lineage goes back to the 16th century, to the master who first created the Codex."
Lara's world tilted. "What?"
"The Collector discovered this years ago. He pursued your mother but she fled, hid. But then he found you. And you, Lara—*you* might be the key."
The room began to spin. Lara sank onto the edge of the bed. "I'm... I'm just a thief's daughter. Imitating my mother—"
"No." Cem knelt before her, hands on her knees. Lara felt the burning skin where he touched. "You're extraordinary. Your talent, your instincts—they're innate. I've seen your work in acid tests. No one your age reaches that level. Because you carry it. The mastery."
Lara raised her head, eyes misting. "Is that why you approached me? For my blood?"
"At first, yes." Cem's fingers tightened on her knees. "But now—now I want to protect you. I can't let you go to tomorrow's meeting. The Collector will use you, then—"
"Kill my mother." Lara stood, pushed Cem back. "No. My mother hid for twelve years. She gave up her life for me. Now it's my turn to save her."
"By sacrificing yourself?" Cem jumped up too, voice rising. "The Collector won't let you go, Lara. When you find the Codex—or can't find it—he'll eliminate you and your mother."
"So what do you suggest?" Lara shouted. "That I do nothing? Let her die?"
"No!" Cem grabbed her shoulders. "We'll make a plan together. I have people I trust, connections in the underground market—"
"Your connections?" Lara laughed bitterly. "The same people you sold me to?"
Cem's face tensed, but something in his eyes—pain, regret, perhaps love—squeezed Lara's heart.
"Yes," he said quietly. "The same people. But this time it's different. This time they're working *with* you, not against you."
Lara looked at him, the war inside still raging. But then an idea struck—dangerous, crazy, but perhaps insane enough to work.
"I'll go to the meeting," she said with determination. "But not according to your plan. According to *mine*."
Cem's brows furrowed. "Lara—"
"Listen. The Collector wants me because he thinks I can find the Codex. What if I tell him I found it? Offer him a fake?"
Cem's eyes widened. "You're—you'll make a Codex copy?"
"My father's workshop has enough materials. Old parchment, ink, seals. And I'm a forger, Cem. This is what I *can* do."
Cem shook his head. "No. Too risky. The Collector will know—"
"He won't. Because you'll be there too." Lara looked at him, the plan beginning to take shape. "As a curator, as an expert, you'll authenticate it. You'll both get what you want—he gets the fake Codex, you get my mother. And then—"
The door opened. Zeynep burst in, face white. "Lara, there's someone downstairs. She came to see you."
"Who?"
Zeynep swallowed. "I don't know. But the academy guard recognized her. Said—" Her voice trembled. "Said she was staff here twelve years ago, an assistant in the art history department. And now she's back."
Lara's heart stopped.
Blood drained from Cem's face. "No. It can't be—"
"The guard gave her name," Zeynep said. "Elif Özkan."
And hearing that name, Lara's world shattered, because downstairs—in this mansion, right now—the woman she'd believed dead for twelve years was waiting.
Her mother had returned.