The Grand Hall of Sterling Manor was never intended to be a place of warmth. It was a monument to ego, a cavernous sprawl of imported Carrara marble and vaulted ceilings that seemed to swallow sound and light alike.

The basement of the Blackwood Compound smelled of ozone and damp earth. Clara stripped off the bulky drysuit, leaving her in sleek, dark tactical gear. She checked her suppressed pistol, slid a combat knife into her boot, and tapped her earpiece.

"I'm in," she whispered.

Static crackled before Elias’s voice broke through. "Good. I'm tapped into their internal network. You're in sub-level two. The residential wing is on the third floor. You're going to have to bypass thirty guards, Clara."

"Just point me to the stairs."

Clara moved like a phantom through the lower levels. The Hawthornes had grown arrogant, relying too heavily on their perimeter defenses and cameras. Elias fed her the blind spots, looping the feeds just long enough for her to slip past patrols.

She reached the ground floor. It was a massive, opulent living space that starkly contrasted with the brutal exterior of the compound. As she crept behind a marble pillar, two guards walked past, their assault rifles slung lazily over their shoulders.

"Did you hear what the boss said?" one guard muttered. "We're moving the kid tomorrow. Taking her to a secure location in Geneva. The mother is making too much noise in the city."

Clara's blood ran cold. Geneva. If they put Mia on an international flight, Clara would never find her again. Tonight was her only chance.

She slipped up the grand staircase, her footfalls entirely silent. When she reached the third-floor landing, the atmosphere changed. The security was tighter. Two guards stood directly in front of heavy, reinforced double doors at the end of the hallway. That had to be Mia's room.

Clara couldn't sneak past them. She had to go through them.

She pulled a flashbang grenade from her belt. Taking a deep breath, she pulled the pin and rolled it down the carpeted hallway.

"Grenade!" one of the guards shouted, diving away.

BANG.

The hallway erupted in blinding white light and a deafening crack. Before the light faded, Clara was moving. She closed the distance in seconds. She drove her knee into the first guard's chest, sending him crashing into the wall, unconscious. The second guard, still blinded, swung his rifle wildly. Clara ducked under the barrel, grabbed his arm, and twisted, forcing him to drop the weapon. A swift strike to the back of his neck sent him dropping to the floor.

The hallway was clear. Clara stood before the heavy wooden doors. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs. She reached for the brass handle. It was unlocked.

She pushed the door open.

The room was beautifully decorated, a mockery of a child's sanctuary. And there, sitting on a plush bed, clutching her stuffed rabbit, was Mia.

"Mommy?" the little girl whispered, her green eyes wide with disbelief.

Clara dropped to her knees, tears finally breaking through her stoic facade. She pulled Mia into a crushing embrace, burying her face in her daughter's hair. "I'm here, baby. I'm right here. I told you I'd come."

For a moment, the world stopped. There was only the warmth of her child, the fierce, unconditional love that had driven her through hell.

But the moment was shattered by the slow, deliberate sound of clapping.