He fell hard onto the wet concrete of the alley.

The leather bag spilled open.

Dozens of rolled-up blueprints rolled into the puddles of dirty water.

The ink began to run.

My father and I walked to the doorway.

Martin was on his knees in the rain, trying to gather the wet papers.

“They’re ruined,” Martin sobbed, his hands covered in mud.

“They’re all ruined.”

He looked up at my father, his eyes wide with fear.

“Daniel, please,” Martin begged.

“Don’t do this.”

“I will lose everything.”

“You already lost it, Martin,” my father said.

The sound of sirens began to echo from the streets of downtown Columbus.

They were getting closer.

My phone screen lit up one more time.

The unknown number sent a final message.

*Look behind you.*

I turned my head.

The hallway behind us was dark, but a figure stood near the elevator bay.

The blue light from a tablet screen illuminated his face.

It was Ethan Brooks.

He walked toward us with quick, quiet steps, his eyes fixed on the screen.

“Ethan,” my father said, turning away from the rain. “What are you doing here?”