Rowan had memorized the override locations; Marcus had trained him for exactly this kind of blind navigation.

A soft, tiny whimper rose from the dark.

It was a sound I had dreamed of every night since they took her.

“Clara,” I breathed.

“I have her, Maren,” Rowan said.

His voice was closer now.

I reached out, my fingers brushing the rough fabric of his jacket, and then the soft, warm bundle cradled against his chest.

He had her wrapped tightly, his massive arm protecting her small body.

“We have ten seconds before the manual locks engage,” Rowan said. “Run.”

“Where?” I asked.

“The service stairwell at the end of the hall.”

A flashlight beam sliced through the darkness from the far end of the corridor.

“They’re in the nursery!” a guard shouted.

The light caught the edge of Rowan’s shoulder, painting him in a harsh, white circle.

Rowan didn’t flinch.

He spun, using his own back to shield Clara from the light and any potential gunfire.

“Go, Maren!” he ordered.

He kicked a heavy steel medical cart, sending it crashing into the corridor.