The rain carved silver tracks down the glass of Damian’s idling town car, blurring the neon lights of Rosalie’s Diner into bleeding smears of red and amber. Inside the leather-lined interior, the heavy silence was punctuated only by the soft, ragged breathing of the little girl asleep against my shoulder and the rustle of turning pages.

My blood ran cold. The nursery.

I didn't wait for Damian. I bolted past him down the hallway, my bare feet flying across the hardwood floor until I reached the double doors of the children's room.

The door was kicked open. Inside, standing beside the cribs, was a tall figure in a black balaclava, holding a silenced pistol pointed directly toward the sleeping cribs where Leo, Mia, and Luca were beginning to stir and whimper.

"Step away from my children," I screamed, raising my weapon with both hands, my stance wide and unyielding.

The intruder spun around, startled by my sudden appearance. It wasn't a hired mercenary—even beneath the mask, the familiar graying hair and desperate, wild eyes gave him away instantly.

Dr. Harrison.

"Put the gun down, Emily," Harrison sneered, his voice shaking with panicked adrenaline as he shifted the barrel toward me. "You think you won? You're just a diner waitress playing dress-up in a monster's house. These children are international commodities. Move aside, and I'll make sure you get a clean exit."

"You took fourteen months of my life," I whispered, every muscle in my body vibrating with a lethal, maternal calm. "You took my first embrace, my first smile, my first sleepless night. And you thought you could just walk back in and take them again."

Harrison tightened his finger on the trigger. "Then burn with them—"

Bang.

A single shot rang out from behind me. Harrison’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief as a clean hole appeared dead center in his chest. He staggered backward, dropping his weapon with a metallic clatter, before collapsing hard against the nursery wall and sliding down into the carpet.