I moved—quickly, desperately, every second a fight against time.
I slid my arms under Elena’s body, lifting her in a single motion.
She was rigid and ice-cold.
Her head lolled slightly against my shoulder, her hair brushing against my jaw like frozen silk.
Then—hesitating only for a fraction of a second—I bent again.
Careful. Terrified.
And gathered the tiny body from the blood-soaked floor.
He was lighter than anything I’d ever held.
Too light. Too still.
I pulled him close to my chest.
My arms tightened instinctively around both of them.
Mother and child.
Fragile. Frozen.
Like something that would shatter if I breathed too hard.
“Move!” I snapped at the soldiers who had appeared at the doorway, hands outstretched.
“Boss, let us—”
“No.” The word came out rough. Shredded. “Don’t touch them.”
They froze.
I pushed past them, staggering into the corridor.
My legs strained under the weight.
My arms burned.
But I didn’t slow down.
My lungs dragged in air that felt like knives, my breath coming in short, ragged pulls as I forced myself forward.
Every step felt like punishment.
Every second felt like too much.
“Stay with me,” I panted, voice breaking as I looked down at them, helpless in my arms. “Both of you—stay with me.”
My grip tightened, careful not to hurt her, and I whispered through broken words, “I’m sorry... I’m so fucking sorry.”
The house felt endless.
Not in size—but in the way it seemed to stretch and twist around me, every corridor longer than it should be, every staircase rising like it was designed to punish anyone desperate enough to climb it.
My boots struck the marble hard.
