I don't make it up to the apartment, don't get to see my wife, happy and healthy, bustling around our new home preparing for the baby. Instead, I'm greeted by a frantic Emery as she comes flying down the stairs toward me her face creased with worry.

"Diogo!" she yells, relief on her face as she catches sight of me.

I reach out to steady her when she stops abruptly. "What is it? Taran?"

"She's not up there, and neither is Stryker," she says worriedly. "I can't ...