Mrs. Halvorsen grabbed her children and pulled them close, her voice cracking as she whispered prayers.
I stepped in front of them without thinking, placing myself between the rifles and the children whose small hands clung to my apron.
A masked man pointed his gun at me. “Get down.”
I looked directly at him. “If you shoot from that angle, you will hit a child. You do not want that. It will slow your escape.”
His finger twitched on the trigger. Confusion flickered behind his mask.
The leader of the group approached. He had steadier hands, colder eyes, and a voice that carried authority.
“You talk too much for a maid,” he said. “Come with us. You will keep them calm.”
I shook my head. “The children stay where I can see them. If they panic, your plan collapses.”
Mrs. Halvorsen whispered, “Please Rhea, just do what they say.”
I did not look away from the leader. “If you want cooperation, keep the room quiet. Trust me. Chaos will destroy you faster than the police.”
He studied me for a long moment. Then he nodded slightly.
“Fine. Stay. But if you try anything clever, you die first.”
I inclined my head. “I understand.”
He dragged Mr. Halvorsen toward the private office where the safe was kept. Two of the intruders followed him. One remained by the door with a noticeable limp. The last stayed inside the hall to watch the guests. His hands shook badly. He was young. Too young for this life.
I sat on the floor beside the children, whispering steady breathing instructions until their sobbing softened. Mia watched me with wide eyes.
“You are not scared,” she said.
“I am,” I answered quietly. “I just refuse to let fear decide what happens next.”
The young intruder glanced at me. “What is your name.”
“Rhea,” I replied.
He hesitated. “I am Carson.”
I gave a small nod. “Carson. Lower your weapon a little. Your wrist is trembling. Accidents happen when people ignore pain.”
He swallowed and adjusted his grip unconsciously.
A crash echoed from the hallway. Raised voices. The leader shouting. The plan was accelerating. I waited. The man with the limp shifted his weight near the door. Carson looked toward the sound for half a second. That was all I needed.
I stood, swinging the silver tray with precise force into Carson wrist. His gun fell. I grabbed his arm, twisted, and brought him to the floor using his own momentum. Training returned like muscle memory. Fast. Efficient. Silent.