The blue light dimmed, replaced by a yellow warning light on the wall console.

The safe house’s primary power line had been cut.

The backup batteries immediately kicked in, the servers humming as they transitioned to the secondary power supply.

The cooling fans slowed to a quiet buzz.

I stood up from the steel chair.

I reached into my duffel bag and pulled out my tactical vest.

I slid it over my head and adjusted the side straps.

I checked the magazine of my Glock, ensuring it was fully loaded.

I slipped two spare magazines into the pouches on my vest.

The exterior security feed on the monitor remained black.

I walked to the metal door, keeping my footsteps silent on the concrete floor.

I pressed my ear against the cold steel.

Outside, the wind was howling through the warehouse district.

But beneath the sound of the wind, I heard something else.

The soft scuff of a rubber-soled boot against gravel.

They had found me.

They knew about the safe house.

I reached for the manual deadbolt, my fingers wrapping around the cold iron lever.