“Federal agents! Drop your weapons!” a voice boomed from a megaphone outside.

A second of dead silence followed.

Then, the warehouse erupted.

The sound of automatic gunfire shattered the winter night, echoing off the brick walls like a barrage of firecrackers.

Through the wiretap speaker, the noise was deafening, a chaotic mix of screeches, shouts, and metal tearing.

I covered my ears, but I couldn’t block out the vibrations shaking the floorboards beneath me.

“Adrian!” I whispered into my sleeve, the fabric damp from my breath.

Outside, glass shattered nearby, raining down onto the snow with a soft, musical clink.

A stray bullet struck the rear bumper of our car, sending a heavy jolt through the frame.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my chest tightening until I could barely draw air.

On the radio feed, a man screamed in agony.

It wasn’t Adrian’s voice.

“Flank the south stairs!” someone yelled through the static. “He’s heading for the gantry!”

“Vance!” Adrian’s voice came through, thick and strained, sounding as if he were dragging himself across the floor. “It’s over, Leo.”

“Nothing is over!” Leo Vance shrieked back.