I stared at the black screen of my phone, the plastic warm against my sweaty palm.

In the corner of the room, Daniel was adjusting the straps on Clara’s cot.

Nora sat beside her, holding Lila’s small hand in both of hers.

“Is he still there?” Nora asked, her voice barely a whisper.

“He is at the gate,” I said.

My chest ached from the sprint down the concrete corridors.

Just three minutes ago, the main hallway had been a corridor of fire and broken glass.

We had heard the first breach at the eastern conservatory windows.

A loud, hollow boom had shaken the marble floors.

“They are inside the perimeter,” Marcus had shouted, his heavy boots skidding on the tile.

Daniel had already been lifting Clara from her bed in the guest wing.

She was so light, her bones feeling like dry twigs beneath her nightgown.

“Get her to the passage!” I had yelled, drawing my weapon.

We had moved in a tight wedge, Daniel leading with Clara, Nora holding Lila close to her chest.

Marcus and I had covered the rear, our eyes scanning the shadows of the long portraits.