The syringe was already full when I walked into the kennel block. Pentobarbital, drawn up clean and capped, the plunger taped so it wouldn't shift in transit.

By midnight, the storm outside had returned with a vengeance. Rain lashed against the glass roof of the greenhouse above us, sending long, distorted shadows dancing across the stone walls of the sub-level room.

Voss had refused to return to the main house.

Instead, he brought a portable tactical workstation down to the holding block, setting up his laptop and secure satellite comms on the metal prep table. He sat in a low leather chair, reviewing encrypted ledger files while I monitored Bishop's vitals.

The dog was resting comfortably now, his breathing deep and even, his head propped against my calf as I sat on a canvas cot.

"You should sleep," Voss said without looking up from his illuminated screen. "Eli's transport team arrives at six tomorrow morning to take him to Saint Jude's."

"I can't sleep in a place with iron doors and armed guards," I replied honestly, leaning my head back against the stone wall.

Voss let out a quiet, dry breath that sounded almost like a laugh. "Fair enough."

"Can I ask you something?" I said into the quiet room.

He stopped typing, his fingers hovering over the glowing keyboard. "Go ahead."

"Why keep Bishop?" I asked, looking down at the sleeping shepherd mix. "A man in your position... you have infinite resources. You could buy ten fully trained military Malinois tomorrow. Why spend this much time and effort over one scarred rescue dog?"

Voss leaned back in his chair, gazing into the dim shadows of the room.

"Two years ago, during a conflict with a rival syndicate out of Philadelphia, my home was breached," Voss said softly, his tone completely devoid of its usual cold edge. "My younger sister was inside. Bishop was just a stray we'd picked up off the docks three months earlier. He wasn't trained for combat."

I listened, holding my breath.

"He took three bullet grazes holding off two armed men in the hallway until Rener and I could breach the floor," Voss continued, his hazel eyes dark with old memories. "He saved her life. He nearly bled out on my kitchen floor."

He turned his head to look at me.

"I don't discard things that fight for the people I care about, Ren," Voss said softly. "Ever."

The confession hung in the air, raw and unexpected. It redefined everything I had thought about Alexander Voss. He wasn't a monster who ruled through fear alone; he was a man fiercely, ruthlessly protective of the few things he deemed worthy of his loyalty.

"What happened to your sister?" I asked gently.

"She lives in London now," Voss replied, a faint smile touching his lips before vanishing into the shadows. "Far away from this city. Far away from me."

Before I could say anything else, Voss's laptop let out a sharp, double-tone ping.

He looked down at the screen. His expression instantly hardened.

"What is it?" I asked, sitting up straight.

"The internal network logs from Miller's computer," Voss said, his eyes scanning the rapid lines of code. "The ghost protocol that sent Miller down here didn't originate from outside the house."

"Where did it come from?"