He lunged across the corner of the granite, his fingers clawing at the sleeve of my sweater.

At the front of the house, the heavy wooden door rattled as someone pounded on it.

“State police! Open the door!”

Harris looked toward the foyer, his face a mask of pure terror.

“They’re going to breach,” Harris whispered.

He didn’t wait for Julian.

He turned and ran down the dark hallway toward the basement stairs, his boots thudding against the floorboards.

“Harris!” Julian shouted, turning his head for a fraction of a second.

It was the only opening I needed.

My fingers wrapped tightly around the handle of the skillet.

The metal was heavy, heavier than I remembered, but I lifted it anyway.

I pulled it back, my shoulder muscles tightening as I prepared for what had to come next.

Julian turned back to me, his eyes dropping to the pan in my hand.

He didn’t look angry anymore; he looked surprised.

“Clara,” he said.

The front door gave a loud, splintering crack as the first strike hit the frame.

The sound echoed through the high ceilings of the kitchen, sharp and sudden.