“We will get him out,” Charles said, his voice firm and cold. “I promise you, Emily.”

A heavy crunch of snow sounded right outside the office window.

Marcus instantly shut the laptop, cutting off the blue glow.

We pressed ourselves against the back of the desk, holding our breath.

The sound of footsteps moved along the side of the building, heading toward the rear entrance.

It was a slow, deliberate walk.

The metal fire door at the end of the short hallway groaned as someone pushed against it.

A key slid into the lock of the back door.

The lock turned with a sharp, heavy click that echoed through the empty restaurant.

“We need the data,” I whispered to Marcus. “Did you copy it?”

“It was only at eighty percent,” Marcus hissed back in the dark.

The back door creaked open, letting in a draft of freezing winter air that smelled of exhaust and wet wool.

Heavy boots stepped onto the linoleum hallway.

“Trevor?” a voice called out.

It was not Trevor’s voice.

It was deeper, smoother, and completely devoid of warmth.