A low, rhythmic tapping started on the windowpane behind us.

I reached for my sidearm, my fingers wrapping around the cold grip.

In the absolute darkness of the study, the tapping sound grew louder.

A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the room, casting long, twisted shadows against the wall.

The silhouette of a man stood outside the window.

His hand was raised, holding a small black device.

A single red laser dot appeared on the chest of my tactical vest.

The dot hovered there, perfectly still.

“Morgan, get down!” Hayes roared.

The window shattered.

The cold wind howled into the room, bringing the smell of rain and ozone.

I threw myself to the floor, my boots kicking against the desk.

The red dot vanished.

In the darkness, I heard the sound of footsteps on the broken glass.

A hand grabbed my wrist.

“Morgan,” a voice whispered in the dark.

“This way.”

The hand was cold, but the grip was firm.

I didn’t know if it was Daniel, Hayes, or someone else.

The sound of a heavy engine revving came from the driveway.