“Give them to me, Claire,” she gasped, her voice cracking with a high, frantic edge.

Marcus moved instantly, placing his broad frame directly between the barrel of her gun and where I sat on the sofa with Emma.

“Put the weapon down, Vanessa,” Marcus said, his voice flat and entirely devoid of fear.

“Get out of my way, you stupid thug!” she shrieked, taking a step forward into the warmth of the room.

Her boots left dark, melted patches on the rug.

“My father is waiting at the gate,” she said, her eyes darting wildly around the room. “He has the plane ready. We just need those files.”

Emma buried her face in my shoulder, her small chest heaving with quiet, terrified sobs.

I held her tighter, smoothing her hair with a hand that felt numb.

“The files aren’t here, Vanessa,” I said, keeping my voice as low and steady as I could.

“You’re lying!” she screamed.

She raised the pistol higher, pointing it directly at Marcus’s chest, though her arm was shaking violently.