Luna POV
I lunged.
Not at the gun—at Margaret. At Mei-Ling. At the woman who had held my daughter hostage, who had spoken through my mother's mouth, who had turned love into a weapon and family into a sequence. My shoulder caught her in the chest, and we crashed backward into the rocking chair, the wood splintering beneath us, the gun skittering across the steel floor toward the crib where Stella still screamed.
Mason moved first, his wounded shoulder forgotten, his body moving with the desperate speed of a father who had already lost too much. He scooped Stella from the wreckage of the crib, pressing her face against his neck, shielding her with his body as Ethan grabbed Wendy, pulling her back toward the doorway, his arms wrapping around both children with a ferocity that made my ches
