The pregnant woman was gently lifted by two servants who had finally found the courage to enter the storage room. They wrapped her in clean sheets, careful not to jostle the baby still clutched tightly against her chest. The woman's eyes were glassy with exhaustion, but she did not let go of her child. She whispered something to the baby—soft, trembling words of love and relief—as they carried her out of the room.
Flynn watched them go for only a moment. Then he turned back to Jinx.
He slid one arm beneath her shoulders and the other beneath her knees, lifting her as if she weighed nothing. Her head lolled against his chest, her sapphire gown hanging limp and stained.
Nala stood at the kitchen entrance. Her face was horrified. She looked at Jinx's bloodstained gown, at the trail of crimson dripping onto her pristine floors, at the unconscious woman in Flynn's arms.
"How did this happen?" Nala whispered. "How did this happen without my knowledge? In my own home?"
