Suddenly, a sharp crack shattered the night air.

The windowpane behind Vale imploded.

Glittering shards of glass showered the room.

A neat, round hole appeared in the center of Vale’s forehead.

His eyes went wide, reflecting the yellow light of the desk lamp.

He slumped forward onto the desk.

His pen rolled across the paper, leaving a long smear of blue ink over his half-finished confession.

Blood began to pool across the white stationery, turning the ink purple.

“Sniper!” I yelled, throwing myself over the desk to pull Sophia down.

We hit the hardwood floor just as a second bullet tore through the plaster wall above us.

“Where did it come from?” Sophia gasped, her cheek pressed against the rug.

“The tree line near the cliff,” I said, glass crunching under my chest.

Down below, the sudden wail of police sirens pierced the darkness.

Blue and red lights began to flash through the thick fog, winding up the driveway.

“Wade,” Sophia said, her face turning pale. “He’s already here.”

“He set us up,” I said. “He knew we’d come here, and he had the sniper waiting.”