Still they dragged him backward.
Arthur Kensington’s face hardened. “Remove him. Now.”
And something in Marcus broke loose.
He had spent his whole life being quiet, respectful, careful, invisible. And none of that would save the baby now.
He let himself go limp for half a second. One guard loosened his grip. Marcus twisted, dropped, slipped downward, banged an elbow into someone’s ribs, and lunged toward the crib.
He grabbed Oliver.
The baby weighed almost nothing.
Chaos detonated across the room. Doctors shouted. Eleanor screamed. Guards lunged. Arthur roared. But Marcus had already seen what he needed—the adjoining bathroom.
He ran for it with the baby in his arms, slipped inside, and locked the door.
Outside, bodies slammed against it. Inside, Marcus looked wildly around the marble bathroom. He had seconds, maybe less. Then he saw what he needed: a small jar of activated charcoal powder among the absurdly expensive “natural” wellness products lined up on the counter.
His grandmother again: If poison gets in, charcoal pulls. Binds it. Gives the body a fighting chance.
Marcus turned on the faucet, wet his fingers, mixed the powder into a thin paste, and looked down at Oliver’s fading face.