The front door sensor had just been triggered.

I stared at the screen, my blood turning to ice.

The hallway camera at the Segovia cottage went dark.

I stared at the black screen on my laptop, the reflection of my own pale face staring back at me.

“Inés, what is happening?” Lucía asked, her voice cracking.

She pressed her hands against the edge of the kitchen table.

“They found the cottage,” I said.

“But the children are not there,” she said, her eyes searching mine for reassurance.

“No,” I said. “They are safe.”

I had moved them to a small stone house near the French border two days ago.

But Matthew was still in Segovia.

I looked down at the burner phone in my hand, the screen cold and black.

The sound of the breaking glass on the call still echoed in my ears.

“We have to send it now,” I said.

I opened the secure mail client on my laptop.

I attached the video file I had prepared that morning.

It was an encrypted file, designed to play only once before deleting itself.