He had leaned down to meet his daughter, in the happiest moment of his life, and had seen, in her tiny sleeping face, not only his child but his mother’s eyes, his family’s mark, the whole dark world he thought he had left behind, looking back up at him from the bassinet.

It was not horror at our daughter.

It was horror at what her face meant, at the understanding, arriving all at once, that the hiding was over, that they would come.

And beneath the horror, I know now, was something else, something that would save us all within the hour: the fierce, absolute resolve of a father who has just realized that he can no longer run, and so will have to fight.

Chapter 11 — The Inheritance Trust