He fell to his knees on the wet linoleum floor.

I ran to him, ignoring the glass crunching under my boots.

Rowan looked up, his eyes bloodshot and exhausted but completely focused.

He unzipped the top of the heavy bag with trembling hands.

Inside, a tiny face squinted against the bright beams of the flashlights.

Her breathing was shallow but steady, her cheeks flushed warm.

Clara.

I reached down and lifted her into my arms, her small body heavy and real against my chest.

She let out a soft, whimpering cry, her tiny fingers catching on my collar.

“I had to drop the tracker,” Rowan whispered, his voice hoarse.

“They were tailing my car on the bridge,” he said. “I sent it over the side on its own.”

Marcus exhaled slowly, lowering his weapon. “Good trick.”

“The twins,” Rowan said, trying to stand but swaying on his feet.

“They are safe,” I said, tears blurring my vision as I held Clara close. “They are in the back room with the medical team.”

Marcus waved two of his men over. “Secure the perimeter. No one else comes through those doors.”