My mother had been a quiet woman, but she possessed scars on her wrists that she never explained.

She had the same calm way with wild things that I did.

She could make a feral dog lie down with a single look.

Just like I had done with Bishop.

I watched the man in the kitchen turn his head toward the hallway.

I waited until he stepped out of sight, his boots squeaking slightly on the polished tile.

“Now,” I whispered.

I pushed the pantry door open and hurried across the dark kitchen.

The glass door to the terrace was unlocked.

I slid it open just enough for Bishop and me to squeeze through.

The cold night air hit my face, wet with heavy rain.

Thunder cracked directly overhead.

It illuminated the manicured lawn in a brief, stark flash of blue light.

We ran down the stone steps and into the shadows of the tall hedges.

The rain soaked through my coat within seconds.

It plastered my hair to my forehead and ran down my neck.

Behind us, a light went on in the kitchen we had just left.