I needed to reach the front door.

But as I stepped past the kitchen island, a bright light suddenly flared in the backyard.

A security floodlight, powered by some independent battery backup I didn’t know about, hummed to life.

It cast long, distorted shadows through the kitchen window.

And in that light, I saw something on the counter.

It was Harris’s service weapon.

He had left it sitting right next to the cutting board.

I froze, my hand hovering over the dark steel of the gun.

Then, the kitchen door began to swing open.

I pulled my hand back from the dark steel of the gun.

The heavy kitchen door was swinging open, its hinges groaning softly.

I scrambled backward into the pantry, my bare feet slipping slightly on the damp tile.

I grabbed the edge of the pantry door and pulled it shut, leaving only a tiny crack to look through.

My heart was hammering against my ribs so hard it made my chest ache.

Through the sliver of space, I watched the kitchen fill with light and movement.

Julian walked in first.