I could see the cuffs of his trousers now.

They were expensive grey wool, tailored perfectly, but darkened with wet snow around the ankles.

He stopped right in front of the desk.

He reached out, his gloved hand coming into view as he tapped the spacebar on the keyboard.

The monitor flared to life, casting a bright blue glow over the room.

The man froze.

He saw the file transfer window.

“What is this?” he muttered.

He leaned forward to look at the screen.

In that fraction of a second, Charles moved.

He lunged from beneath the desk, his shoulder slamming into the man’s thighs.

The man let out a sharp grunt as he was thrown backward, crashing into the metal filing cabinet.

The flashlight flew from his hand, spinning across the floor and painting the walls in wild circles of light.

“Marcus, get the drive!” Charles yelled, his voice echoing in the small office.

The man was quick.

He recovered his footing and threw a heavy fist at Charles’s face.

Charles ducked, but the blow caught him on the shoulder, spinning him around.