The heater in the SUV blasted warm air, but I could not stop shaking.

Rowan drove fast, the tires screaming against the wet asphalt as we left the dirt road behind.

He glanced at me in the rearview mirror.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“Just tired,” I said, holding both boys tight against me in the back seat.

“She has doctors with her, Rowan. They had Clara in a specialized transport incubator.”

He gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.

“She won’t leave the country,” he said.

His phone buzzed on the dashboard.

Marcus’s voice came through the speaker, crisp and clear.

“Rowan, we’ve bypassed the perimeter security at the private terminal.”

“The target jet is on the tarmac, engines idling,” Marcus reported.

“We saw their security detail moving a heavy medical capsule into the main hangar just minutes ago.”

“We are two minutes out,” Rowan said, blowing through a red light near the airfield gates.

The rain was coming down harder now, blurring the lights of the runway.

We pulled up to the rear fence of the terminal, where a dark van sat with its headlights off.

Three men in black tactical gear stepped out of the shadow of the fence.

Marcus Reed approached Rowan’s window, his face grim.

He handed Rowan a suppressed sidearm.

“The hangar doors are locked from the inside, but we have a bypass key,” Marcus said.

“Our intel says the medical team is still inside with the infant.”

Rowan checked the chamber of the weapon and tucked it into his belt.

“Stay in the car with the boys, Maren,” Rowan said, looking back at me.

“Lock the doors from the inside.”

I nodded, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“Bring her back,” I whispered.

He squeezed my hand once, his grip firm and warm, before sliding out into the cold night.