Men in dark tactical gear with bright yellow bands on their arms were advancing on the main house.

They weren’t taking prisoners; I saw a wounded guard on the gravel driveway get shot twice at close range.

I reached back down into the chute and grabbed Victor’s trembling hands.

“Up, Victor,” I urged, my muscles straining. “Give me your hand.”

He pulled himself up with a low groan, his face contorting in pain.

His expensive wool suit was ruined, covered in black soot, grease, and mud.

I helped him over the lip of the chute, and we tumbled into the wet grass.

The freezing rain hit us immediately, soaking my maid’s uniform in seconds and chilling me to the bone.

I pulled my weapon from its concealed holster under my apron.

“The woods,” I whispered, pointing toward the dark line of pine trees bordering the cliffside.

We ran, staying low beneath the shadow of the tall, manicured boxwood hedges.

Behind us, another explosion shattered the second-story windows of the study we had just escaped.

Glass rained down like a waterfall of silver shards in the darkness.