I hear the confrontation in the great room before I see it—three unfamiliar heartbeats moving with predatory purpose, the accelerated breathing of the sons, the subtle shift of weight as someone prepares to attack. My claws dig into the carpet as I slow my approach, pressing my body close to the wall beside the doorway. The scents tell me everything my blind eyes cannot—three Crimson Order operatives, armed with both guns and blades, their professional detachment tinged with satisfaction ...