*Remote access initiated from local IP address.*

Someone else was already inside the system, deleting the files from the drive in real-time.

I grabbed the mouse, trying to abort the connection, but the screen went entirely black.

In the quiet of the study, the landline telephone on the desk began to ring.

I ripped the silver USB cable from the side of my laptop.

The red light on the external drive blinked once and died.

The landline phone on the mahogany desk continued to ring, its shrill bell cutting through the heavy silence of the study.

I stared at the black plastic receiver.

My heart hammered against my ribs, a fast, steady rhythm that ran counter to my training.

I reached out and lifted the phone to my ear.

“Speak,” I said.

My voice was flat, carrying the cold authority I used on the bridge of a destroyer.

“Emily,” a voice whispered.

It was Rachel.

The practiced, aristocratic accent she had spent the last three years perfecting was completely gone.

She sounded small, terrified, and very young.