"Don't open the door."
As my mother's hand closed around my wrist, her whisper brushed my ear. Her hand was wet, and she was holding on tight enough to hurt. Even though my eyes were already drawn to the noise outside—the boots hitting the stone, the clipped voices, and the sound of rain drowning everything else—I nodded.
Someone yelled my father's name again.
Another crack of thunder made the window shake. Lightning split the sky, and for a second, the courtyard turned white. I saw my father's shadow drop lower, and his shoulders bent as if he couldn't hold the rain anymore.
"Please," my mother said. "Please."
I didn't know who she was begging for.
The door flew open.
Two men stood in the doorway, their coats wet from the rain and their faces hard and strange. One had a piece of paper with a red stamp on it. The other person didn't even bother to look at us.
"By order of the estate," the first said in a flat, practiced voice, "we are to search these quarters."
"For what?" my mom asked as she stepped in front of me.
"Proof."
The word hit like a verdict.
They pushed us out of the way. People opened drawers. Clothes thrown away. The neat piles of folded linen that my mother had made fell into the mud that boots had brought in. I couldn't move as I watched a stranger's hands move through the small world we owned.
"Stop," my mom said. "There's nothing here."
The man with the paper looked around and wasn't impressed. "That's what they all say."
A gunshot rang out into the air outside, cutting through the rain.
My teeth clicked together when I flinched.
"Enough," a voice yelled from the courtyard. Mr. Blackwood's voice.
The men stopped looking. One of them pointed to the door. "Come."
They took my mom first.
I tried to get away from her, but panic flooded my body. "Mom—"
"Stay," she said with a fierce grip on my shoulders. "Stay inside."
They pulled her into the rain.
I stood there for a second too long, listening to the storm drown out her voice. I ran after that.
There was a lot of movement and water in the courtyard. The lamps swung back and forth. Shadows grew longer and then broke. Men yelled orders that turned into thunder. I slipped on wet stone and caught myself on a pillar, which made me gasp for air.
My dad was still on his knees.
Now there were two men behind him. Another person put something metal against the back of his neck. He stayed still. He didn't fight back. He raised his chin and looked Mr. Blackwood in the eye while the rain fell on his face.
My father said again, "I didn't do it." His voice was steady, stubborn, and painful. "You know me."
Mr. Blackwood laughed, but it wasn't funny. "I knew you," he said. "That was my fault."
Someone stepped out of the light.
Rowan's uncle.
I had only seen him a few times before, always passing by and watching. He moved easily tonight, even though everything around him was a mess. He had a folder under his arm and was dry under the eaves.
He said to Mr. Blackwood, "We found what you asked for," in a calm voice, as if he were giving a report at breakfast.
He opened the file.
The rain made the papers flutter. One fell close to my feet. I stared at it, the words getting blurry, and my name swimming in ink next to my father's.
Mr. Blackwood grabbed the folder and looked through it quickly. His face changed, but not to anger or doubt. It became colder.
He told my dad, "You had access." "Keys. Routes. Schedules."
"My father said, "I was trusted." "That's not the same as being guilty."
Mr. Blackwood ripped a page out and pushed it forward. "Then tell me this."
My father's gaze moved to the paper. Something crossed his face—maybe he recognized it. Or worry.
He said, "That's not mine."
"It has your name on it."
"I never signed—" "Enough," Mr. Blackwood said sharply. He looked away, as if he was bored with the issue. "Take him."
"No!" The storm was loud, but my mother's scream cut through it.
She got away from the man who was holding her and ran to my father. Another guard grabbed her arm. She clawed at him, her nails scraping, desperate.
"He didn't do it," she yelled. "Of course you do!"
Rowan stood on the porch, and the rain stuck his hair to his forehead. His eyes moved back and forth between my dad and me, wide and shocked.
"Rowan," I yelled, my voice cracking. "Say it to him. Please.
He moved forward.
Mr. Blackwood's hand shot out and grabbed his son's shoulder. "Inside."
Rowan pushed him away. "Father—"
"Inside," Mr. Blackwood said again, his voice low and dangerous.
Rowan thought for a moment. For one awful second, he looked like a boy who had been cut in half.
Then the man behind my dad pushed him forward.
There was a lot going on at once.
My dad jumped up. My mom yelled his name. A flash of metal. A fight. Someone fell in the mud.
And then the gun went off.
Time stuttered.
The sound broke the air, louder than thunder and sharper than anything else I had ever heard. I yelled without knowing it. My knees gave out, and I fell to the ground hard, with water soaking through my dress.
Mr. Blackwood staggered back, holding his chest.
Rowan yelled.
The men yelled. Someone let go of their weapon. My dad stood still, hands up, and eyes wide with fear.
"I didn't—" he started.
Mr. Blackwood fell down.
The rain took his body as he hit the stone.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then everything went up in flames.
The guards ran forward. People raised their guns. Someone threw my dad to the ground and twisted his arms behind his back. My mother fell down next to him, crying, her hands wet with rain and blood that wasn't hers.
Rowan ran down the stairs.
"Dad!" He fell to his knees and shook his hands as he pressed them against Mr. Blackwood's chest. "Please wake up, Father."
Mr. Blackwood's eyes were wide open but he couldn't see the storm.
I pushed myself up, feeling numb and my ears ringing. I looked at Rowan again.
Something in his face broke.
It wasn't just sadness. It was betrayal, raw and blinding, looking for a place to land.
He looked at my father.
"No," I said softly.
Rowan got up slowly. He didn't know how to cry, so the rain ran down his face like tears.
"You," he said in a rough voice.
I shook my head and moved back. "Not him."
"You were there," Rowan said, his voice getting louder. "He was there."
"My dad didn't—"
Rowan's uncle stepped forward easily and put a hand on Rowan's shoulder. "I'm so sorry," he said softly. "I tried to stop him."
I looked at the man, and the lie fell into place.
Rowan's eyes shot back to me. He clenched his jaw. Something hard and final went into his eyes.
He said, "Get her out of here."
Someone grabbed my arms. I screamed and fought them off while they pulled me in different directions.
"Rowan!" I yelled. "We made a promise—"
His face stayed the same.
The gates started to shut.
I saw my father being pushed into the dark through the small opening. My mother fell to her knees, and Rowan stood next to his uncle, shoulders squared and eyes cold.
The iron door slammed shut.
And on the other side of it, a lie kept us all in.