The first to notice that something had gone wrong was Benny. A father's instinct made him look to Lucian at once, and he spotted the short knife in the boy's hand.
It was a utility knife, used for cutting rope, whittling wood, and, if necessary, defending oneself at close quarters. It had no place in their plan—especially when they had the upper hand.
No. They no longer had the upper hand.
Worry for the boy made Benny hesitate for a moment. But, like most knightly families that hadn't forgotten the art of war, they had taught their heirs more than physical strength and technique. They had also taught them how to respond in a crisis:
"Watch out, Lucian!"
He shouted a warning and focused on tightening the net. Like a fly caught in a spider's web, the more Dominic struggled, the more hopelessly entangled he became. The mesh and wooden hooks snagged and twisted together, dragging him into an even worse predicament.
He tossed the rope to Feld. "Don't look them in the eye!"
Dense, heavy, icy droplets struck the back of his head, forcing his neck lower. He could only keep his gaze close to the ground.
It brought back the first prayer service he should have forgotten long ago. As a child, he had followed the silent crowd into the Church with his head bowed. All he could see were pairs of feet pointed toward the altar.
Water had been sprinkled down from above. Only much later had he learned that it was holy water, blessed to represent the will of the Heavenly Father. Every child was bathed in it at birth, a sign that their life was bound to God and that He watched over them.
The rain grew heavier. Long silver threads streaked through the dimness,