“An unauthorized transport vehicle just arrived at the side clinic entrance,” Agent Vance said. “They have paperwork signed by Patricia’s attorney to move the child.”

“No,” I whispered, the word catching in my throat.

I looked over at the defense table.

Patricia was watching us, a cold, triumphant smirk breaking through her smeared makeup.

Courtney had stopped crying and was looking at her mother with a tense, hopeful expression.

“The judge hasn’t signed the final custody denial yet,” the prosecutor muttered, frantically looking through his files. “Technically, the old temporary order is still active for another few minutes.”

“I don’t care about the paperwork,” my father said.

He turned toward the heavy double doors of the courtroom.

“Hannah, stay here with the prosecutor,” he ordered.

“No, I am coming with you,” I said, my voice shaking but firm.

I could not let Owen out of my sight again.

I stood up, my legs trembling, but the adrenaline carried me forward.

“Colonel, we need to go now,” Agent Vance said, already moving toward the exit.

We hurried down the aisle of the courtroom, our footsteps echoing loudly on the polished terrazzo floor.