The safehouse door slammed shut, locking out the world. But it couldn’t lock out the echo of gunfire. Or Mikael’s last, bloody roar.

He’s gone.

The thought was a cold knife in Eva’s ribs. She paced the small living room, Sophia clutched to her chest. The baby wouldn’t stop crying. Not a normal cry. This was a raw, terrified shriek that tore right through Eva’s soul.

“Shh, moya malyshka, it’s over, you’re safe,” she whispered, her voice rough from smoke and screaming.

But her ...