The metal stairs creaked under my weight, the sound covered by the distant alarm.

At the top of the stairs, a wooden door with a frosted glass window stood closed.

The words *Vance Logistics – Private* were stenciled in faded black paint.

I reached the door, my hand hovering over the brass knob.

Through the frosted glass, I could see the silhouette of a man pacing back and forth.

He was shouting into a phone.

“I don’t care about the files!” Marcus screamed, his voice muffled but distinct.

“Get the girl into the truck! We’re leaving now!”

I took a deep breath, gripping the cold metal of the pistol in my pocket.

I turned the knob and pushed the door open.

Marcus spun around, his eyes widening in shock.

“Emily,” he breathed.

Marcus dropped his phone onto the desk.

It clattered against a stack of paper manifests.

“How did you get in here?” he asked, his voice shaking.

I didn’t answer.

My hand remained inside my coat pocket, wrapped around the cold handle of the gun.

“You shouldn’t have come, Emily,” he said, taking a step toward me.