The phone in Vanessa’s hand began to vibrate again.

This was the moment she answered, the moment the tension spiked.

“Is the transport ready?” she asked the caller.

Her voice was sharp, demanding.

She listened, her eyes scanning the dark library.

“The flight plan must be locked in by midnight,” she said.

She paused.

“What do you mean, there’s an interference on the local band?”

Her eyes locked onto the window right where I was standing.

The security light from the garden caught the side of her face, highlighting the sharp angle of her jaw.

She began to walk toward the curtain.

Every step she took seemed to echo in the quiet room.

The silence was heavy, broken only by the sound of Grant rustling through papers at the desk.

“Vanessa?” Grant asked, looking up. “What is it?”

“Be quiet,” she whispered.

She reached out, her fingers inches from the velvet fabric.

I pulled my arm back, preparing to strike her with the butt of the weapon if she parted the drapes.

Then, the phone in her hand beeped again.

A loud, high-pitched tone.