“In the kitchen! I hear movement!” a voice shouted from just outside the pantry.

Two tactical officers in black vests and helmets rounded the corner, their rifles raised.

“Police! Don’t move! Put your hands on your head!”

The red laser sights of their weapons danced across the pantry shelves, settling on Julian’s chest.

Julian immediately raised his hands, his face pale and slick with sweat.

“Don’t shoot! She’s crazy, she attacked me!” he yelled, pointing a trembling finger at me.

“She has a knife! She’s been hiding under a false identity!”

An officer stepped forward, kicking the broken glass away as he forced Julian onto his stomach.

Julian groaned as his face was pressed into the wet, lemon-scented floor.

The zip-ties clicked shut around his wrists with a sharp, plastic snap.

The second officer knelt beside me, his hand resting gently on my shoulder.

“Are you Clara?” he asked, his voice calm but alert.

I nodded, my throat too sore to speak.

“Is there anyone else in the house?”

I pointed a shaking hand toward the dark hallway that led to the basement.

“Harris,” I croaked.