“I’ve been ready since the day they took her,” I said.

He reached over and squeezed my hand, his grip warm and tight.

“We are bringing her home,” Rowan said.

We opened the doors and stepped out into the cold, pouring rain.

The air smelled of wet pine and expensive perfume from the arriving guests.

Marcus led the way toward the service entrance, his head down against the wind.

We slipped through a gap in the perimeter fence, the mud sucking at our boots.

Up ahead, a side door to the kitchen was propped open with a wooden crate.

A waiter in a white shirt was standing outside, smoking a cigarette.

Marcus stepped up behind him before the man could even turn his head.

Within seconds, the waiter was unconscious in the bushes, and Marcus was stripping off his apron.

“Go,” Rowan whispered to me. “I will find another way in.”

I watched him disappear into the shadows of the estate’s stone facade.

I took a deep breath, adjusted my tray, and walked toward the open door.