Through the gap in the desk panel, I saw a pair of polished leather shoes step into the room.

The person moved silently, their steps deliberate.

They didn’t turn on a flashlight.

The shape of a man stopped right in front of the terminal I had just been using.

I heard the soft click of a plastic case opening, followed by the faint hum of a portable drive spinning up.

He was bypassing the lockout manually.

My heart hammered against my ribs so hard I was certain he would hear it.

I squeezed my eyes shut, praying the darkness would keep me hidden.

For two long minutes, the only sound was the rapid, rhythmic tapping of keys.

Then, the drive clicked again as it was unplugged.

The leather shoes turned and moved toward the door.

The heavy door clicked shut, and the lock engaged with a dull, metallic thud.

I was locked in again.

I waited another sixty seconds before I crawled out from under the desk.

The room was still pitch black, save for the tiny, blinking orange lights on the server rack.