Chapter 12
The warm golden light flickered as a damaged chandelier swayed precariously above the ruined corridor. Cameron did not lower his weapon. He kept his extremely short stubble and sharply defined jawline locked in a mask of lethal focus, his cold, perceptive eyes scanning the smoke for further threats. "Is everyone unharmed?" Cameron asked quietly, walking slowly toward the center of the room. Liora rushed forward and pushed open the heavy wooden door to Milo's bedroom. The room was dark, but the emergency lights from the hallway cast long shadows across the floor. Milo was huddled under his bed, his small hands covering his ears, trembling violently in his cotton pajamas. "Milo, it's me," Liora whispered, dropping to her knees and reaching under the bed frame, her heart aching for the terrified child. The six-year-old boy scrambled out, throwing his arms around her neck and burying his face in her sophisticated black maid dress. Liora held him tightly, her softly oval face buried in his hair, tears of profound relief sliding down her delicate cheekbones. Cameron stood in the doorway, his broad, powerful shoulders filling the frame. His customized weapon hung loosely at his side. He watched the two people who mattered most to him holding each other amidst the chaos, his cold, intimidating eyes softening completely. "Shall we retreat to the bunker until the perimeter is cleared?" Cameron asked, his deep voice a steady, unbreakable anchor in the violent storm that had finally begun.
