Damien POV
Finally, the sharp, black silhouettes of the manor gates appeared in the distance.
Inside the car, Vance cursed, his aged fingers stabbing at the screen of his iPad.
"Damien," the old man's voice was tight. "I don't understand. I can't access the security feeds. I can't reach anyone inside."
His words blurred into a meaningless hum in my head. All I could see was the traitor's bloody, grinning face. All I could hear was his taunt: 'the bloody bath of your w***e wife and the spoiled brat.'
My knuckles were white, my prayers a silent, desperate scream in my mind: Don't let me be too late. Don't let me see their bodies.
The sedan screeched through the hastily opened gates, spraying gravel as it skidded to a halt. I wasted no time, shoving the door open before the engine die
