My fingers fumbled with the metal flip-lock.

It was stiff, rusted slightly from the autumn dampness.

“Claire, don’t do this to our family,” Nathan’s voice sounded right behind us.

He reached into the kitchen, his hand grabbing the collar of my sweater.

The fabric strained against my throat, choking off my breath.

I slammed my elbow backward with everything I had.

I felt it connect with something hard—his chest or his chin.

He grunted and his grip loosened.

I threw my weight against the metal latch of the sliding door.

It clicked open.

I shoved the heavy glass door aside.

Cold, wet night air rushed into the kitchen, smelling of fallen leaves and rain.

“Run, Lily!” I yelled, pushing her out onto the wooden deck.

The wood was slick with condensation.

Lily slipped, her knees hitting the planks with a sharp crack.

She didn’t cry; she just scrambled back to her feet, her small face wet with rain.

I stepped out after her, but Nathan grabbed my ankle from inside the kitchen.

I fell hard onto the deck, the breath knocked out of my lungs in a sharp gasp.