The rain was starting to turn into sleet, tapping like fingernails against the glass.

Harris stood frozen in the center of the kitchen.

The bright light showed the dirt on his boots and the sweat on his forehead.

He was no longer the calm officer who had knocked on my door.

He was a man caught in a trap of his own making.

The phone in his hand chimed.

Another message on the stream.

*State police unit is turning onto the main road now.*

*Estimated arrival time: two minutes.*

Harris looked at Julian, then at me.

His eyes darted to the dark hallway leading to the basement.

“We have to go,” Julian repeated, grabbing Harris’s arm.

Harris didn’t answer him.

He tilted his head toward the window.

“Listen,” Harris whispered.

The wind howled.

But underneath the sound of the wind, there was something else.

A low, rhythmic pulse.

It was faint, muffled by the trees and the thick insulation of the house.

But it was there.

The distant wail of a siren.

Then another.

Harris’s face drained of color.

“They’re closer than two minutes,” Harris said.