Clara’s knees buckled, and she sank to the floor, the photo clutched in her hands. The truth hit her like a tidal wave—she wasn’t just connected to the Blackthorn family. She was Jonathan Blackthorn’s daughter.


    “How is this even possible?” Clara murmured, tears stinging her eyes. “Why didn’t he tell me? Why didn’t my parents…?”


    Hensley crouched beside her, his face a mix of concern and confusion. “Maybe your parents didn’t know. Or maybe they weren’t your real parents.”


    Clara shook her head. “No. They raised me. They loved me. But this…” She held up the photo. “This changes everything.”


    She turned to the shelves, scanning the books and files for answers. Her fingers landed on a leather-bound journal, its cover marked with Jonathan’s initials. She flipped it open, her heart racing as she read his words.


    <hr>


    **“To my dearest Clara,


    If you’re reading this, then I’ve failed to protect you from the truth. You are my daughter, born of a love that should have defied the odds but instead brought danger to us both. I left you with the Dorne family to keep you safe. They knew the risks but promised to raise you as their own.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    The Node is my gift to you—a tool to undo the mistakes I made and safeguard humanity. But with it comes great responsibility. You are stronger than you know, Clara. I see it in you, even now. Trust yourself. Trust your instincts. And trust the Blackthorn legacy that runs through your veins.


    I’m sorry for the burden I’ve placed on you. But I believe in you. Always.


    Love,


    Dad”**


    <hr>


    Clara closed the journal, her hands trembling. Tears streamed down her face, but her expression hardened with determination.


    “He gave me up to protect me,” she said, her voice steadier now. “He trusted me to finish what he started.”


    Hensley nodded. “Then let’s make sure it’s not in vain.”


    Clara approached the Node, the vial glowing faintly in her hand. As she placed it into a slot on the device, the chamber filled with a soft hum. The Node’s lights flared to life, and a holographic map projected into the air.


    “Is that…?” Hensley began.


    “The liquid’s resonance,” Clara said. “It’s stabilizing. But we still need to stop Wexler.”


    The hum of the Node grew louder, its light intensifying. Clara felt a strange warmth spread through her chest—a connection, like a thread pulling her toward something greater.


    “This is it,” she said. “The Blackthorn legacy.”


    But as she turned toward Hensley, the sound of footsteps echoed from the stairs above. Clara’s blood ran cold. Wexler had found them.