The voice on the other end was frantic, loud enough to cut through the quiet room.

Julian’s face went pale, his grip tightening on the receiver until his knuckles turned white.

He looked from the phone to Emma, then back to the man in the overcoat.

Julian listened to the frantic voice for another second.

He did not look away from Emma.

“Handle it,” Julian said.

He hung up the phone and slipped it into his breast pocket.

The man in the overcoat nodded once, turned on his heel, and walked out of the room.

The heavy oak doors clicked shut behind him, leaving a ringing silence in their wake.

The dining room felt too large, the gray winter light from the window catching the dust motes in the air.

I stepped forward, my fingers tightening around the fabric of my apron.

“I am sorry, Mr. Mercer,” I said, keeping my voice as low and even as I could manage.

“I will take Emma back to our quarters immediately.”

I reached for Emma’s hand, but she did not move.