The phone vibrated against my side.

A new message popped up in a bright yellow box at the top of the stream.

It was from an administrator of the local county scanner group.

“Sheriff’s department has dispatched three units,” the message read. “Estimated arrival is four minutes.”

Julian yanked my wrist upward, trying to pry my fingers off the phone’s case.

The knife blade hovered near my face.

I could feel the heat of his breath, sour and fast, on my chin.

“Give it to me,” he hissed.

“No,” I said.

I spit directly into his face.

Julian blinked, his grip loosening for a fraction of a second in surprise.

I wrenched my wrist free and scrambled sideways, knocking over a row of glass spice jars.

They shattered on the tile floor of the pantry.

The sharp smell of dried rosemary, cayenne pepper, and smoked paprika filled the small space.

I slipped on the glass, my knee hitting the hard floor with a dull thud.

Harris stepped into the pantry doorway, blocking my only way out.

“That’s enough,” Harris said.