“Vivienne!” my father called.
“The nursery,” she said. “Go.”
We reached the nursery door.
It was open.
The nurse was on the floor, conscious but dazed, a red mark blooming at her temple.
The bassinets—
Empty.
For one second, my mind refused to understand what my eyes saw.
Three cribs.
Three blankets.
No babies.
No sound came out of me.
Then a cry.
Small.
Muffled.
From the wardrobe.
My father crossed the room and threw open the doors.
Inside, crouched behind hanging blankets, was Mara Devereux.
Blood ran down the side of her face.
In her arms were Leo and Noah.
Samuel was not there.
I fell to my knees.
“Where is he?” I whispered.
Mara’s eyes were glassy with pain. “I got two.”
The room tilted violently.
My mother caught the doorframe.
My father’s face went white.
From somewhere outside, beyond the broken glass and screaming alarm, a car engine roared to life.
