“Where is Rolan?”
“Handling the situation.”
“And whatisthe situation?”
“I can’t say anything else right now.”
“Mikhail.” I keep my voice low. Even. “Please.”
His face darkens.
“He’s managing the perimeter. He knows what he’s doing, Elizabeth. He’s been doing it for—” He stops and adjusts. “He’ll be fine.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he always is. Stay here. Don’t open the door. Someone will come for you when it’s clear.”
He pulls the door closed, and the lock engages.
The room itself is nice. The lighting is warm rather than institutional. There’s water, food, and a first aid kit. A small shelf of books is here to pass the time, and there’s a real sofa rather than the cot I was expecting.
None of this is making me feel better.
Anya is pressed against my side, her knees pulled up, Mr. Whiskers retrieved from her room during the transit down here and now held against her chest. She’s crying.
Gunfire erupts above us.
It’s muffled, as if it were miles away and not a few feet above our heads.
I try to keep my face calm. The clock on the wall says we’ve been down here for thirty minutes, but it feels like three hours.
I think about Landon.
Could he have done this? He has men. Maybe not enough to stage an assault on a place this big, but could he have found more? Could he have found enough?
If it’s Landon, this is all my fault.
The thought settles into my chest with a sharp weight. Every person in this house is in danger. I ran from him, and Rolan?—
“Ellie.”
Anya’s voice pushes me out of my thoughts.
I look down at her. She’s staring up at me with her father’s eyes, pale, steady, and frightened.
“I want Papa,” she says.
“I know, sweetie.” I pull her closer. “He’s taking care of things. That’s what he does.”
“But what if?—”
“He’s going to be fine.” My eyes ache with the need for tears to fall, but I hold them in. “He knows this house. He knows his people. He’s going to be fine, and he’s going to come through that door and be upset if we don’t stay put.”
Anya is quiet for a moment, weighing my words.
“Are you scared?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say. “But being scared is okay. Being scared just means something matters.”
