Elias moved before the elevator doors opened. Though his heart raced, his steps were steady. Her breathing was serene as Nadia kept pace. She wasn't the one rattled. He was.
Park and Delgado stood stiffly at the hallway's end, away from the family's rooms. They stood up straight when they saw the President and First Lady, feeling guilty, not just polite.
Elias didn't slow. "Talk."
Park swallowed once. "Sir… someone breached the northern perimeter of the Residence. Forty-seven seconds inside the family wing."
Forty-seven seconds.
That number was spot on.
Delgado added, "No locks broken. No cameras disabled. They didn't enter the children's room. They just… left something."
Elias's stomach knotted.
Nadia opened the door before he got there. Emma leapt from the bed and into her arms, teeth chattering from the shaking. Her daughter clung to her, after Nadia whispered something.
Lucas stood stiffly by the window. He saw a cold, older reflection of himself. He only turned after speaking.
The cameras' direction was known. Lucas looked at his father. "This wasn't a test."
He blinked once, slow. "It was a demonstration."
The words affected Elias more severely than a battlefield concussion.
Nadia gently set Emma down before leaving. She crouched by the door, eyes narrowed. A small, cream-colored item sat on the handle: thick, folded paper.
Her gloved fingertip hovered just above it.
"Elias," she murmured.
He was beside her instantly.
Nadia took a glove from her pocket, as usual, and put it on as carefully as she'd load a weapon. She gently picked up the note and opened it.
The color drained from her face.
Elias leaned in to read over her shoulder.
Choose wisely, Mr. President.
Or we'll choose for you.
Underneath the message, three names were written meticulously.
Admiral Rowan Beckett
Senator Yara Kade
Reverend Silas Monroe
Two names had thick red X's carved through them.
Beckett's name was circled.
Elias's breath hitched. This wasn't meant as a heads-up. He was told which leash he could wear.
Her hand trembled, then she crushed the note.
"They're not just watching," she whispered. "They're inside us."
Park and Delgado had Elias' support. "Lockdown. Full protocol. Every entry sealed. No one gets within ten meters of this hallway without my explicit authorization. Start a cold reboot of every camera, feed, and comm line in this wing. If it runs electricity, I want it rebuilt from scratch."
"Yes, sir."
"And get Voss and General Holt to the Hearth Room. Now."
They ran immediately.
Nadia moved closer. Her voice became a sharp whisper." Elias, about this list—"
"I know."
"My folder," she hissed. "The one I gave you twenty minutes ago…"
The implication shocked him. "You think someone was in here," Elias said quietly. "In our bedroom."
Nadia met his eyes. "I think someone walked through our life like it belonged to them."
Silence fell between them. The children didn't dare to breathe.
Then Emma spoke softly. "Mommy," she whispered, voice trembling, "will they kill us?"
The words pierced Elias in a way bullets never had.
With a gentle turn, Nadia moved with a surprising strength. She dropped to her knees, her fingers gently caressing Emma's soft cheeks. "No," she replied, her words carrying a certainty that was as sharp as a knife. "I'll destroy this country before anyone harms you."
Emma nodded, but her lip trembled. She tried to believe her mother. Tried.
Lucas stayed put by the window. His voice was a flat, neutral echo. "They're not going to kill us, Em."
Emma looked up at him, confused.
"They're going to use us."
Elias closed his eyes.
His son was neither exaggerating nor afraid. Or watched too much TV. He assessed the situation quickly. Kids shouldn't learn hostage psychology. However, Lucas did it. He learned it too early.
God, he supposed to shield him from this.
His comm buzzed.
UNKNOWN sender.
Every instinct screamed not to open it.
He opened it anyway.
A single photograph filled the screen.
Nadia was younger, gentler, and exhausted. She stood beside a man with a blurred face.
Behind them, snow fell over a Moscow street. Cyrillic signs glowed faintly from storefront windows.
Beneath the picture, one line:
Does he know about Moscow, Nadia?
Or should we tell him ourselves?
For a moment he couldn't breathe.
He looked up.
Nadia brushed a tear from Emma's chin. She missed the message. Yet she felt him staring. She turned her head slowly.
Their eyes met.
Her expression didn't change.