It was the unmistakable sound of glass splintering under pressure.

I pressed my ear against the cool wood of the pantry door.

“Julian?” Harris called out.

His footsteps moved away from my door, heading toward the sink area.

I heard the screech of the metal window frame being forced upward.

Cold air must have rushed in, because I felt a draft sweep under the pantry door, carrying the scent of wet pine and ozone.

A heavy boot stepped onto the kitchen counter, followed by the squeak of rubber soles on the tile floor.

“Put the flashlight down, Harris,” a voice said.

It was Julian.

His voice was calm, almost pleasant, as if he were greeting a neighbor at a backyard barbecue.

“You’re late,” Harris said.

“The rain slowed me down,” Julian replied.

I heard the wet slap of a raincoat being peeled off and dropped onto the kitchen island.

“Did she lock herself in?” Julian asked.

“Yes,” Harris said. “She’s in the pantry. It’s a reinforced door. Steel frame.”

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

They were talking to each other.