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Her mouth trembled as she held on again.

Near the front doors, a maintenance crew replaced the shattered glass with temporary steel panels. Others carried broken furniture from the den and swept plaster from the floor. Technicians crouched beneath control panels with laptops balanced on their knees, speaking to one another in clipped voices.

They seemed to have appeared from nowhere.

Vehicles continued arriving beyond the front windows. Guards. Medics. Security specialists. Men carrying equipment cases and replacement cameras.

The Cavalhos had turned chaos into a life skill.

The cake had been forgotten. The bowl of batter remained on the kitchen island, covered in a fine layer of dust. Melted chocolate had hardened inside another bowl. A saucepan of milk sat cold on the stove, a skin forming across the surface.

Only a few hours earlier, we had been laughing over chocolate. Now blood streaked the kitchen walls.

I sat on the chair near the staircase with Marigold curled against me.

She had woken during the attack and refused to return to bed. Tone had tried carrying her upstairs once the grounds were cleared, but Marigold had clung to her neck and begun crying before they reached the first landing.

Eventually, she had climbed into my lap.

Her small body felt heavy with exhaustion. Her cheek rested against my chest, and one hand remained tangled in the fabric of my blouse. Every few minutes, her eyes drifted closed. Then a drill started or a piece of timber struck the floor, and she woke again.

She yawned against me.

“Is the bad noise finished?” she asked.

“Yes.”

I looked toward the open front doors.

Armed men stood beneath the shattered archway. More patrolled the garden. Emergency lights washed the grounds in harsh white.

She settled deeper into my arms.

Across the room, Tone watched us.

Archie stood behind her with one hand resting on her hip. He had washed the blood from his face, but a dark stain remained near his collar. His attention never stayed in one place for long. The windows. The staircase. The guards. His daughter.

Then Tone.

Always Tone.

She leaned back into him without noticing. His arm tightened around her immediately.

Demitri stood near the entrance to the den with Raze.

He had removed his jacket. Dust covered one shoulder, and a tear ran along the sleeve of his shirt where glass had caught it. His eyes moved to me so often that I had stopped pretending not to notice.

Each time, his attention dropped to Marigold, checked the space around us, then returned to my face.

He needed to see that I was still there. I understood. I needed the same from him.

The front doors opened again.

Atlas entered with Neve beside him.

He carried a phone in one hand and a leather folder beneath his arm. Two men followed, speaking with the security technicians before peeling away toward the damaged control room.

Neve crossed directly to Tone.