The single knock echoed through the quiet hallway like a gunshot. Thud. Just once. Heavy, deliberate, and terrifyingly calm.

The wind howled off the Atlantic, whipping my hair across my face as I dragged a bleeding Toby out of the car and toward the rusted iron gates of the abandoned lighthouse. The towering stone structure stood like a monolithic tomb against the bruised evening sky. "Bring the kid out!" I screamed into the howling wind, pushing Toby onto his knees near the precipice of the cliff. From the shadows of the crumbling stone doorway, a tall man stepped forward, wearing an expensive tailored suit completely out of place in the salt spray. In his arms, struggling against thick plastic restraints, was Lily, her face tear-stained and pale. "Ah, Mrs. Hayes," the man said smoothly, his voice carrying effortlessly over the wind. "Always exceeding expectations. Drop the gun and push Toby toward the ledge, and the little girl takes her first breath of tomorrow." My fingers tightened around the pistol grip. I looked at Lily, whose wide, trusting eyes locked onto mine through the darkness, whispering words I couldn't hear over the gale.