“Claire did this,” he said softly.

“Her distress protocol must have bypassed the local towers entirely.”

A loud, metallic clunk echoed through the walls.

The heavy steel security shutters at the front entrance began to rise, inch by inch.

The house was letting them in.

We heard footsteps pounding down the hallway outside the nursery.

It was Julian, his face pale and sweating, clutching a silver laptop.

Vanessa was right behind him, her expensive fur coat draped half-off her shoulders.

“What is happening?” she shrieked, looking at the monitors.

“Why are the shutters opening?”

Julian glared at Nathan, his hand reaching inside his jacket.

“Shut it down, Caldwell,” Julian snarled.

“Call them off, or I swear to God I’ll wipe every drive in this server room.”

“I can’t,” Nathan said, standing in front of the children’s door.

“The system isn’t responding to me.”

“You’re lying!” Vanessa screamed.

She lunged toward the desk, her manicured nails clawing at the keyboard.

The screen flashed bright red.

A synthetic voice, cool and eerily familiar, filled the room.

*Threat detected. Access denied.*

“Claire,” Vanessa gasped, stepping back as if she had been slapped.