“Hey, the cabinet’s been pried open,” one of the men shouted from the center aisle.

“Someone is already in here.”

A flashlight beam swept across the ceiling directly over our heads.

I pressed my back against the cold metal of the cabinet, holding my breath.

“Check the back exit,” the second voice ordered.

“Don’t let them leave with anything.”

I looked at Vance, pointing toward the emergency exit sign at the far end of the row.

The red light of the exit sign was dead, but I knew the door was there.

Vance nodded, slowly sliding his laptop into his backpack.

We moved in a low crouch, using the shadows of the high storage shelves as cover.

Behind us, a loud splash echoed through the space, followed by the sharp, chemical stench of fuel.

“Light it up,” the first man said.

“The boss wants this entire block cleared before the fire department gets here.”

A sudden orange flare illuminated the warehouse.

The flames caught quickly, licking up the side of the wooden pallets near the main entrance.

Smoke began to curl toward the high ceiling, thick and black.