Dust clung to the shoulders of his dark wool coat, smelling of dry rot and old paper.

“It is over, Ethan,” Daniel said.

His voice was surprisingly quiet, but it filled the small, cramped space of the attic.

Ethan did not lower the gun.

His hand shook, sending a thin beam of light from his tactical watch dancing across the pine floorboards.

“Get back in there,” Ethan hissed.

“I have what I came for,” Daniel replied.

He gestured with his free hand toward the open compartment behind the wardrobe.

Inside, a small metal safe sat with its door hanging open, its interior dark and empty.

Below us, the wood of the hatchway creaked violently.

“Sheriff’s department!” the voice shouted again, closer this time.

“Keep your hands where we can see them!”

The first heavy black boot appeared at the top of the wooden ladder.

Megan took a step back, her heel catching on a loose floorboard.

She reached out and grabbed the edge of a dusty sewing table to steady herself.

“Ethan, please,” she whispered.

“They’re going to shoot you.”

Ethan did not look at her.