For half a second, Ethan did not understand what he was seeing.
Not a retired father.
Not an old man.
Not the harmless military relic he had mocked behind closed doors.
A commander.
Thomas crossed the room in three hard steps.
Ethan turned and raised the fireplace poker.
Thomas caught his wrist with both hands, drove the weapon arm away from Rachel and Lucy, and stripped the poker free with a sharp rotation that made Ethan gasp.
“Release my daughter. Now.”
Frank Dawson entered behind him in a dark raincoat, gray hair wet from the storm, eyes already moving across the room.
Door.
Child.
Pregnant woman.
Weapon.
Broken glass.
Red folder.
Bloodless scratches.
Ethan lunged with his free hand.
Thomas pivoted.
One hook of Ethan’s arm.
One shift of weight.
One controlled drive downward.