The late afternoon sun slanted through the nursery's tall windows, dust motes dancing in the golden rays. Zora Su sat on the floor, sorting through wooden blocks with her son, whose laughter rippled like windchimes. Outside, the estate's manicured gardens lay serene—an oasis where mother and child could feel safe, at least for a moment.
A sudden crack of thunder rattled the windowpanes, though the sky was clear. The boy glanced up, brow furrowed. Zora's heart fluttered. She rose and crossed to the window. In the distance, beyond the hedge line, two black SUVs skidded onto the cobblestone drive. Armed men in tactical gear poured out, faces obscured by balaclavas.
“Mama," her son whispered, clutching her skirt.
Zora's pulse spiked. She moved quickly, scooping him into her arms. He buried
