Marcus slammed the heavy wooden cellar door shut.

He slid the iron pipe through the rusted brackets just as something heavy slammed against the outside of the door.

The wood groaned, but the iron pipe held.

“That won’t hold them for long,” Marcus said, his breath coming in short gasps.

“It gives us time,” I said.

I turned back to the bomb, the green light still glowing in the dark.

The digital display remained frozen at *01:15.*

But beneath the green light, a small amber indicator had begun to blink.

“Marcus,” I called out. “Look at this.”

Marcus walked over, his tactical light illuminating the small amber bulb.

“The external power was cut,” he said, his voice dropping.

“How?” I asked. “The house lights are still on.”

“They didn’t cut the house power,” Marcus said, pointing to a thick black cable running out of the top of the metal box. “They cut the dedicated line to this vault.”

The amber light blinked faster.

Beneath it, a new set of numbers appeared on the digital display, glowing a faint, angry red.

The countdown had resumed.