The trek to the hangar was a grueling gauntlet. They moved in a tactical diamond formation—Ethan and Bella flanking the children, Damien bringing up the rear, his eyes constantly scanning the mist for the telltale glint of laser sights.
The silence was the worst part; it was a hungry, waiting silence, broken only by the crunch of gravel under their boots and the distant, throaty rumble of the mercenaries' closing extraction vehicles.
Noah and Ava were remarkably silent, but the weight of the night had clearly settled on them. Ava clung to Ethan’s jacket, her small face set in a grim, adult-like mask of concentration, while Noah kept glancing back at Damien.
Every time their eyes met, Damien felt a physical ache in his chest—a yearning, sharp and sudden, for the five years of bedtime s
