Chaos erupted. Paramedics, who had been called in haste, rushed in, delicately lifting Nyla onto a stretcher. Rowan hovered beside her, holding her hand as if his touch could tether her to life.

Beatrice, usually so poised, stood rooted to the spot, her face pale and drawn. Her eyes, however, revealed the storm within—a mixture of shock and something darker, something like fear.

As the ambulance sped away, lights flashing, Rowan was consumed by a singular thought: he had almost lost everything—his wife, his child—because he had failed to protect them. But there was no time for regret now. Only action.