A nurse sat on the edge of a cot, holding our twin boys.

Leo and Toby looked up as we entered, their wide eyes reflecting the dim light of a battery-powered lantern.

When Rowan saw them, a breath caught in his throat.

He had not seen his sons since they were infants.

I laid Clara on the clean sheets of the cot.

The boys scrambled over, looking down at their sister with quiet curiosity.

Rowan knelt beside the bed, his wet hair dripping onto the floor.

He reached out and gently touched Leo’s shoulder, then Toby’s.

“They have your eyes,” he said softly.

“They have your temper,” I replied.

Marcus stood by the door, watching the hallway. “The transport is waiting at the rear dock.”

“We have five minutes before Tessa’s people realize Rowan wasn’t in that car,” Marcus said.

Rowan looked up at me, his expression serious. “We cannot go back to our old lives, Maren.”

“I know,” I said.

“We have to take her down,” he said. “All of it. The Whitmore name, the estate, the foundation.”