I braced my feet against the floor, my mind racing through my tactical options.

My grip on the USB drive tightened until my knuckles ached.

I had to make a choice.

The red dot found my chest again.

The officer’s finger began to squeeze his trigger.

“Three,” he counted.

“Two.”

A sudden, deafening blast shattered the silence from the hallway.

The door to the study blew inward.

The force of the explosion threw me backward against the bookcase.

The USB drive slipped from my fingers, sliding across the wet floor.

In the brief flash of fire, I saw a hand reach down to grab it.

The lights of the SUV outside flickered and went out.

The room was plunged back into darkness.

I scrambled through the debris, my hands searching the wet floorboards.

My fingers brushed against cold metal, then warm plastic.

The phone on the floor lit up once more.

A new message banner popped up, illuminating the space around it.

“The nursery is clear,” it read.

“We have the package.”

I looked up, trying to see through the smoke.

The shadow by the window was gone.