"Move! Now!" "Come on, sweetie. Run," the maid hissed, one hand clawing at the back of Laylani's nightgown while the other yanked open the nursery door. "Where are we going? Where's Mama?" Laylani's voice trembled but kept pace with the maid's pull. "Not now!" the maid snapped. "Keep your head down. Stay behind me." A crash from downstairs made both of them jump. The house thudded as someone kicked through glass. Footsteps pounded the hallway. "Keep moving," the maid ordered. She shoved Laylani toward the stairs and grabbed a pocket-sized pistol from a side table as she ran. "Who's there?" a man's voice barked behind them. It was masked and empty. "Get her!" another voice answered. "Don't you dare—" Laylani began, then a gunshot cut her sentence in half. The maid jerked, a wet sound in her throat. A spatter of dark on her sleeve. She steadied herself, swallowed, and kept going. "Stay close," she told Laylani, but the maid's hand trembled. Laylani saw the pistol slung tight in the maid's fist and felt something hard settle in her small palm—like a hot promise. "Down the service stairs. Garage. Now." The maid's voice became paper-thin and sharp. They ran. Glass shattered behind them. Shouts became orders. A figure materialized on the landing above, mask glinting in the emergency light. He raised his weapon. "Stop!" he shouted. "Hold her!" "Not happening," the maid answered. She aimed, hands steady