She went rigid.

Her face was pale under the harsh glare of the floodlights.

“Look around you, Ryan,” I said.

The lights inside the mansion went dark.

The auxiliary generators did not kick in.

The Black Lantern protocol had already initiated the localized grid isolation.

Every computer screen, camera, and electronic lock on the Whitmore estate was freezing.

A low siren began to wail in the distance, coming from the direction of the main highway.

It was not the local sheriff.

It was the state police and federal tactical units.

Ryan looked toward the dark house, his eyes wide.

“What did you do?” he hissed.

“What is this?”

“It is over,” I said.

I took three steps forward, keeping my weapon low.

“The perimeter is closed.”

“The airspace is being restricted right now.”

“That helicopter will not clear the county line.”

The pilot of the helicopter seemed to realize this.

The pitch of the rotors began to change.

The pilot was backing down the throttle.

“Keep it running!” Ryan screamed toward the cockpit.

“Keep it in the air!”

The pilot shook his head, gesturing wildly toward his control panel.