Nico.
Behind me, somewhere deeper in the house, I hear Turo’s voice snapping orders. Cold. Controlled. Deadly. He goes to war like it’s nothing.
And I sprint down the corridor toward my son’s door, terror clawing my throat, one thought carving through everything else.
This timing isn’t coincidence.
Someone waited. Someone watched. Someone chose the exact second we stopped being careful. The exact second wewere distracted. The exact second I let myself believe, for one stupid moment, that safety could be more than just survival.
And as the alarm keeps screaming and the red lights strobe across the polished walls like blood,
I realize with brutal clarity that this isn’t just an attack on the estate. It’s an attack on us. On what we are. On what we could become.
And someone out there doesn’t want us to have the chance. Not even for one more night.
