They were both fast asleep, tangled in their blankets, breathing in soft, rhythmic sighs.

I touched Liam’s warm forehead, then Chloe’s cheek, my hands shaking so hard I could barely feel their skin.

I went back to the living room and pulled the heavy canvas drapes shut over the high loft windows.

The street below was quiet, but every shadow on the pavement looked like a threat.

I did not sleep at all that night.

***

Three days passed in a blur of hyper-vigilance.

I walked the twins directly to the school doors, keeping my eyes scanned on every parked car.

I kept the studio locked during my working hours, ignoring the buzzer unless I was expecting a delivery.

On Thursday afternoon, a courier delivered a massive wooden crate.

Inside was a Dutch Golden Age landscape painting, its varnish yellowed and cracking with age.

The attached work order came from a prestigious estate liquidation firm in Manhattan.

The budget allocated for the restoration was astronomical, easily enough to cover my lease for the next six months.

The paperwork was signed by a shell corporation, but I knew the handwriting on the delivery slip.