They escorted her out into the cold, her high heels dragging through the snow as she continued to scream curses into the winter night.

The cabin grew suddenly quiet, save for the crackle of the fire and the low murmur of police radios outside.

Another figure walked through the doorway, stepping carefully around the melting snow on the threshold.

It was Julian.

He wore his dark cashmere overcoat, his face pale and set in a hard, unreadable expression.

He looked at Marcus first, who gave him a brief, silent nod of reassurance.

Then Julian’s eyes drifted to me, and finally to Emma, who was still hiding her face in my neck.

“Are you hurt?” Julian asked, his voice low and raspy from the cold air.

“No,” I said, though my voice was barely a whisper. “We’re okay.”

He walked over to the sofa, his boots making no sound on the rug, and knelt down in front of us.

He reached out a gloved hand, pausing for a second before gently touching Emma’s back.

“It’s safe now, sweetheart,” Julian said softly. “The bad people are gone.”