The two guards on the footbridge turned and began running toward the eastern perimeter.

“Move,” Rowan whispered.

He rose instantly, moving with a silent, fluid speed that seemed impossible for his size.

I scrambled after him, my boots slipping on the wet clay.

Marcus kept pace behind me, his weapon raised to cover our rear.

We reached the edge of the stone bridge.

Below us, the drainage culvert roared with rushing rainwater.

The dark opening of the concrete pipe was waist-deep in swirling, muddy water.

“It is too fast,” I said, staring into the black tunnel.

“I have her,” Rowan said, looking down at Clara.

He secured her carrier strap tightly across his chest, tucking her head under his waterproof layer.

“Step where I step,” he told me.

He slid down the muddy bank into the freezing torrent without hesitation.

The water hit his thighs, but he did not stumble.

I climbed down after him, gasping as the icy water soaked through my trousers.

Marcus followed, his eyes scanning the ridgeline above us.

The current pulled at my legs, trying to drag me down.