Phoebe Beaumont quietly reached up with both hands to support the heavy silver bread tray beside the marble console beneath

The grand foyer of the Beaumont estate had descended into absolute chaos. The gilded mirrors were shattered, spraying glass across the polished marble floors. The front doors, once a symbol of impenetrable wealth, had been blown entirely off their hinges by a shaped charge. Thick, acrid smoke billowed into the house, illuminated by the strobing red and blue lights of the security alarms.

Silas emerged from the basement stairwell like a specter of death, his suppressed rifle raised. He moved through the smoke with terrifying, lethal precision. Two Sterling mercenaries, heavily armed and wearing tactical gear, stepped through the ruined doorway, their rifles sweeping the grand staircase.

"Are you looking for me?" Silas asked into the smoke.

The mercenaries spun toward the deep voice, but they were far too slow. Silas fired twice. The suppressed rifle made a soft, deadly thwip-thwip sound, and both men collapsed instantly to the marble floor, neutralized before they could pull their triggers.

Silas stepped over their bodies, his cold eyes scanning the courtyard outside. Marcus was pinned down behind a marble fountain, laying heavy suppressive fire toward the wrought-iron gates where the Sterling transports were parked.

"Marcus, what is their remaining strength?" Silas asked over the comms, taking cover behind a heavy stone pillar.

"They're falling back, Boss!" Marcus yelled triumphantly over the radio. "The phone call worked! Whatever Bianca told her old man, it spooked him! The transports are starting their engines!"

Silas watched as the remaining Sterling soldiers scrambled back into their armored vehicles. The massive trucks threw it into reverse, tearing out of the estate and leaving their dead behind on the manicured lawn. The sudden, eerie silence that followed the deafening gunfire felt heavier than the battle itself.

"Will you secure the perimeter and organize a cleanup crew, Marcus?" Silas asked, lowering his rifle.

"Consider it done. Are you going down to the safe room?"

"Do I have anywhere else to be?" Silas inquired softly.

He turned away from the carnage of the foyer, his heart beating a slow, steady rhythm. The war with the Sterlings was far from over—tonight was merely a skirmish—but his immediate priority was the two people locked in the steel cage beneath his feet.

As Silas descended the hidden elevator, he shed the heavy Kevlar vest, leaving only his ruined charcoal suit shirt. He wiped a streak of soot from his angular face, trying to soften his appearance before facing his daughter.

He reached the heavy titanium vault door and keyed in the biometric code. The massive deadbolts retracted with a loud, mechanical clank.

Silas pulled the heavy door open. Laurel was sitting on the cot, holding Phoebe tightly in her arms. The little girl had fallen asleep against the maid’s chest, exhausted by the sheer terror of the night.

Laurel looked up, her expressive brows lifting in pure, unadulterated relief when she saw Silas standing in the doorway, bruised but entirely whole.