When I entered that abandoned warehouse and saw my little sister suspended from the ceiling, bleeding and gagged, something inside me turned ice-cold. Her husband stood behind a glowing laptop with a smug smile. “She belongs to me.” I slowly peeled off my gloves and glanced at the armed men behind me. “No,” I said. “She’s my blood.” By sunrise, one empire would collapse, and another would rise from its ruins. He simply had no idea which one yet.

I sat in a quiet, sterile room at Mercy General Hospital, watching the steady rhythm of a heart monitor. Eleanor was awake in the bed next to me, her right hand heavily bandaged and stitched, her ribs wrapped tightly in a brace. The doctors said she was severely dehydrated, malnourished, and bruised to the bone, but her spirit was entirely unbroken. She looked impossibly fragile under the harsh, buzzing fluorescent lights, yet she had wielded more strength tonight than I had ever possessed in my entire life.