“Clara,” Dominic said, his eyes never leaving Leo’s face.

“Pick up the flashlight.”

I leaned down carefully, keeping the babies secured in my left arm, and grabbed the metal light.

“Walk ahead of us,” Dominic ordered.

“We are going back to the house.”

He hauled Leo to his feet by his collar, keeping the revolver pressed firmly into his back.

We walked slowly up the steep, muddy slope toward the glowing windows of the estate.

My legs felt like lead, and my arms ached from the weight of the twins, but I kept moving.

The rain began to slacken into a thin, miserable drizzle as we cleared the tree line.

The back lawn of the estate was littered with broken branches and spent shell casings.

The glass doors leading to the grand terrace were shattered, shards of crystal reflecting the lights from inside.

Three men in dark overcoats stood near the entrance, their hands resting on the grips of their holstered pistols.

When they saw Dominic, they immediately stepped forward, their faces pale with relief.

“Sir,” one of them said, bowing his head slightly.