Chapter 13: The Stand in the Cellar
The man on the stairs didn't rush. Men who carried silenced pistols didn't need to rush; they owned the time, the space, and the outcome. He took two steps down into the dim light, his face obscured by the shadow of the low ceiling, revealing only the metallic gleam of a gold signet ring on his left hand. Julian shifted Maya slightly behind his hip, his body forming a barrier between the children and the man on the stairs. "You're late," Julian said, his voice steady, surprising even himself with its lack of tremor. The man stopped on the fifth step, the barrel of the pistol tilting up an inch. "We're right on time, Julian," a second voice answered from the dark behind him—a woman’s voice, smooth and corporate, belonging to someone who hadn't touched a dirty wrench in a decade. A second figure stepped past the first, a tall woman in a gray wool trench coat, her heels clicking softly on the wooden stairs. It was Miller. The woman who had signed the checks, the one Clara had spent three years trying to hide from. Miller looked down at Clara, then over at Julian and the two children, her expression one of mild, disappointed boredom, like a teacher inspecting a poorly graded exam.
