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Riah, don’t look. Just bury her. Call her Cadence.

Violet’s elegant writing marks a tragic end to what was the most beautiful beginning.

I swallow, stuffing the pain deep inside of me to deal with later. “Please take care of her.” I nod to the box. “I have property out in the woods. Find Dean from the theater; he can take you there. I need to go to Violet. Where did you see her?”

“The infirmary.” I take a step past him, and he grabs my arm. “She’s not there anymore.”

“Then where the hell is she?” I take a breath, trying not to lash out at the kid.

“Lord Marcus Lazeroff took her away. She told me to tell you that she is Rapunzel, and she sings for the bells.” He releases my arm, returning to holding my daughter with the greatest care.

She is Rapunzel. She sings for the bells.

I scour my mind. Recalling every book, every fairy tale, every poem. Images of old maps and the maps I drew of our surroundings flash in my mind.

Violet is my princess in a tower.

A bell tower.

A church.

“I know where she is.” My heart thunders, a horse ready at the gate to get to the finish line. To her. “Change of plans.” I turn to Dahlia, “let's grab a few more supplies and get the sleds ready.” Mila taps my arm, touches her chest, moves her hand away, then jumps her hand back. “Meet us at the forge at dusk.” She nods, then runs off. I glance back at the box, then pat Riah on the shoulder. “Stay safe.”

And we go.

Gloves, rope, weapons, first aid.

The snowmobiles are packed and ready to go. I’m pacing the forge, itching to get moving. Mila has ten minutes left before we head out without her.

“Since you insist on coming,” he grumbles, “you’re riding with me.” Dean grabs Dahlia by the chin guard of her helmet, tilts it up, then buckles it for her.

“I’ll always be your backpack.” She says as he finishes the buckles. Then she sticks her split tongue out at him, making it clap like a seal. He grabs her chin bar again, pulling her in, and she grabs his waist as he whispers something to her. I grab my gloves and bop the tops of their helmets.

“Sorry, we need the extra sled; I doubt Mila knows how to drive one. Let’s go.” They fall in behind me when the side doors slide open, the bitter breeze whirling in. “Who’s this?” I ask when Mila walks in hand in hand with some guy. He’s tall with a solid build. They both have bows slung over their shoulders with quivers. She taps his chest, makes a shooting gesture like she’s releasing an arrow, and gives me a thumbs up. I grab a pair of helmets and hand them over. “Can you drive a sled?”

“Yeah.” He takes the helmet and slides it on.

“What’s your name?”

“Mikhail.”

“Do you even know what you’re doing here?” He looks down at Mila, then back at me.

“Don’t need to.”

I nod to the table, and he steps to my side. I show him the trail we will be taking, where we will split, and where we will convene. It’s a secluded church surrounded by thick woods. While we are lucky to have dense evergreen coverage, most of the cover the woods would typically provide is gone for the winter.

We leave the forge in our teams. Mila and Mikhail as our marksmen, Dahlia as our second line, then Dean and I on the assault. It takes twenty minutes to navigate the trails before we stop a hundred yards from the long dirt road that leads to the church, hiding our sleds along the tree line. We walk single file through the woods, walking toe-heel to mitigate the crunch of snow beneath our feet. Ten minutes in, and the church peeks into our view through the tree line.

I wasn’t sure this mission would yield anything; the last time I was here, it was run-down, with busted walls and holes in the ceiling. Things have changed. It’s completely remodeled with gorgeous, solid stone; the property has been trimmed, and there are two vehicles parked in the driveway. One guard stands at the front door, another at the base of the bell tower.

“Mila, Mikhail.” I turn, lean in, and whisper, “You two make your way to either side of the property, as far as you can while in sight of each other. Dahlia, stay here in sight of the entrance and the bell tower. Dean and I will take out the entry guard, then the bell tower. We’ll climb the tower and get to her before they know we’re inside.”

We wait while our marksmen take their positions. Dean whispers in Dahlia’s ear, then kisses her through their ski masks. He was pissed at me earlier when he found out she was going around interrogating people with me. I don’t blame him. He’s waited a long time for her, and now that he has her, he’s afraid something will happen. I get that.

Once they’re in position, Dean and I make our way along the tree line to execute our first assault. We wait around the corner for a beat; I take a deep breath, then I step around and grab the guard in a vascular chokehold. He throws us back; my breath whooshes out of me when I hit hard against the ground. He thrusts his heels into the ground, shoving us back until I hit the wall. I keep the count: five seconds… Seven seconds… ten seconds… And he’s out, going limp in my arms. The second guard comes around the corner, and Dean jumps into action. They scuffle, my eyes darting to him to make sure he gets the upper hand. We hold the men until their pulses have long gone.

Perfect execution. Quiet and clean.