At 2:13 in the morning, a pregnant woman called 911 and whispered that her husband was going to kill her.

"Set the baby on the table," Arthur commanded, his eyes fixed entirely on the crying infant. "Do it now, or I shoot the doctor first."

Rowan stood slowly, positioning herself between the barrel of the shotgun and the bed where Wren held her newborn son. Her hands were raised in front of her, stained with blood.

"Arthur," Rowan said, keeping her voice completely level, projecting an aura of absolute calm she didn't feel. "Look at me."

Arthur’s gaze flicked to Rowan’s eyes for a fraction of a second. "I don't need to look at you. I need the child."

"The baby has meconium aspiration," Rowan lied without a single twitch in her tone. She stepped half an inch closer to him. "His lungs are filled with fluid. If you take him right now without continuous suction, his airway will close in less than three minutes. He will suffocate in your arms before you ever reach your car."

Arthur hesitated, his eyes darting down to the writhing bundle in Wren’s arms. His paranoia, built over two decades of isolation, was his greatest vulnerability. "You're lying."

"Look at his skin!" Dax chimed in, picking up on Rowan's ploy immediately. He pointed at the baby’s hands. "That blue tint? That's hypoxia. We need to clear his lungs with the oxygen rig, or he dies. You spent nine months waiting for this child—are you going to let him die because you were too impatient by three minutes?"

Arthur’s jaw worked furiously. The gun barrel wavered slightly. "Fix it. Fix it right now!"

"I need the medical bag on the shelf behind you," Rowan said smoothly, taking another small step forward. "It has the pediatric suction catheters."

Arthur turned his head slightly to glance at the bag sitting on a shelf near the doorway.

It was the opening they needed.

"NOW!" Rowan yelled.

Dax lunged forward with the explosive speed of a linebacker. He tackled Arthur around the waist, slamming the older man hard against the concrete doorframe. The shotgun discharged with a deafening BOOM, the blast tearing into the concrete ceiling, showering the room with sparks, plaster, and dust.

Arthur roared, swinging his heavy elbow around and striking Dax sharply across the bridge of his nose. Blood spurted from Dax’s face, but he refused to let go, dragging Arthur down to the floor.

"Kira! Grab Wren and the baby!" Rowan screamed, rushing into the melee.

Kira didn't hesitate. She unhooked the IV bag, grabbed the crying newborn, wrapped her arm around Wren’s shoulders, and helped the weakened, bleeding girl off the cot.

On the floor, Arthur was fighting like a cornered animal. Despite his age and limp, his strength was immense. He managed to shove Dax off him, reaching into his belt and pulling out a heavy, eight-inch hunting knife. He lunged toward Dax’s chest.

Rowan reacted purely on instinct. She grabbed the heavy metal oxygen cylinder from the floor and swung it with all her strength, striking Arthur’s right arm.

CRACK!

Arthur shrieked in pain as the knife clattered out of his shattered hand, bouncing across the concrete floor. Dax immediately drove his fist into Arthur’s jaw, knocking the man backward against the floor. Arthur’s head struck the hard concrete with a sickening crunch, and his eyes rolled back as he went limp.

"Is he out?!" Kira cried, holding the baby against her chest while supporting Wren, who could barely stand.

"He's unconscious," Dax panted, wiping blood from his broken nose. He quickly grabbed the heavy iron cable that had been used to chain Wren’s ankle, looping it tightly around Arthur’s wrists and ankles, securing him tightly to the heavy steel support beam in the center of the basement.

Rowan snatched the discarded shotgun, checking the breach. It was empty. She threw it aside.

"We need to get out of here now!" Rowan shouted. "The gunshot might have set off something upstairs!"

They pushed open the steel door and hurried into the narrow hallway. But as they reached the stairs leading up to the main floor, a thick, suffocating wall of black smoke rushed down to meet them.