The first thing Scarlett realised was that fear no longer paralysed her.
It sharpened her.
The retrieval team moved with surgical precision, black-clad figures spreading across the estate grounds like ink bleeding into paper. Their formation was too clean, too disciplined to be Mercer men. These were professionals. Government-trained. Corporate-owned.
The kind of people who didn’t threaten or negotiate.
They collected.
Scarlett stood at the centre of the courtyard, her pulse steady despite the alarms screaming overhead. The cold December air bit into her lungs, grounding her in the present moment. Ethan was at her side, weapon raised, body angled subtly in front of hers without even thinking about it.
Michael Hawthorne’s voice cut through the chaos. “Scarlett. Stay behind me.”
She
