The night air of Washington was cold and damp against my face.

A light drizzle had begun to fall, slicking the black pavement of the driveway.

I hailed a yellow cab at the curb.

“Sixteenth Street,” I told the driver as I climbed into the back seat.

The leather of the seat was cold and smelled of old tobacco.

The city lights blurred through the rain-streaked window as we pulled away from the Maybourne Grand.

My hand shook as I opened my bag to check on my father’s medal.

The gold finish caught the passing streetlights.

Beside the velvet box, my personal phone began to vibrate in the dark.

It was an automated alert from my home security system.

I tapped the screen to open the live camera feed.

The screen flickered, showing the hallway of my apartment.

The front door was slightly ajar.

A shadow moved across the lens, blocking the light from the kitchen.

The feed cut to static, then went entirely black.

“Driver,” I said, my voice tighter than I intended. “Can you go any faster?”