I’ve carried guns and grenades, newborn colts and lambs. But never a human only a few hours old. I feel unexpectedly nervous, and I sit down in the chair next to Shelby, so I can be sure I don’t drop the little bundle.

The baby’s skin smells sweet and milky. Her tiny hand looks like a curled-up rosebud. Her fingernails are so minuscule that you can barely see them, but all five are present and perfectly formed, even the pinky nail.

I stroke the back of her hand. It feels too soft to be real. Softer than satin or silk.

Her face is red, with a little bruise on the bridge of her nose. She must have gotten stuck during the delivery. But her tiny features really are quite lovely.

I wonder what it would feel like to hold my own child. To see a mix of my own features, and the features of the person I loved best in the world. I can imagine the gratitude I’d feel to my wife, for carrying my child and going through the pain and labor to bring it into the world. I can imagine the overwhelming impulse to take care of them both. To provide for them, and keep them safe.

I felt that impulse toward Riona. When I heard her scream my name, I ran back toward the house at a speed I’ve never even touched before. And when I saw the empty kitchen with its overturned chair, and the spatter of blood on the tiles, I was afraid like I’ve never been afraid before.

I ran back out into the yard and I saw her sprint out of the stable, with the Djinn right behind her. I charged at him without a weapon, without any plan. Just knowing that I had to save her, at all costs.

I still feel that impulse. I know it’s all over now, and she should be safe in Chicago. Josh is dead, the Djinn is dead, and she has her family to protect her.

But still . . . I feel like she needs me.

Or maybe it’s me who needs her.

I pass baby Frances over to Bo.

“You want a drink or anything?” I ask Shelby.

“I’d love a snack,” she says. “Those damn nurses wouldn’t let me have anything but ice chips while I was in labor.”

“They gave you breakfast after,” Grady says.

“I know, but I’m still hungry.”

“I’ll get you something,” I say. I saw a cafe on the way up, and there’s vending machines on every floor.

I walk down to the cafe first, thinking that Shelby might like a pastry or a cup of soup. While I’m scanning the menu, Bo joins me.

“You hungry, too?” I ask her.

“Nah,” she says. “I just want coffee.”

We place our orders—coffee for Bo and me, soup and a sandwich for Shelby. I get her the full-size order, because I’m sure Grady will eat half of it.

“Better get some cookies for the boys,” Bo says. “And coffee for mom.”