He looked at me, his eyes calm and clear in the dim green light.

“It is time to go upstairs,” he said.

I pulled my jacket tighter around my shoulders.

My hands were shaking, but the cold fear in my stomach had turned into something else.

We walked up the concrete steps, leaving the hum of the servers behind.

As we reached the heavy oak door at the top, a muffled boom shook the floorboards.

It sounded like a firecracker, but much deeper.

“Flashbang,” Ward said quietly.

He drew a small silver pistol from beneath his jacket.

We stepped into the long, carpeted hallway of the main house.

The smell of expensive wax and lilies was gone, replaced by the sharp scent of burnt gunpowder.

Shouting voices echoed from the grand foyer.

“Federal agents! Stay on the ground!”

We walked toward the noise, our boots clicking on the polished hardwood.

I saw the front doors first.

The heavy glass panels had been shattered, glittering like ice across the Persian rug.

Dozens of men in dark tactical vests with yellow letters on their backs were pouring into the room.