The room fell silent again, save for the low drone of the terminal fan.

I stood there, holding the binder against my chest.

The rain outside seemed miles away, muffled by the concrete walls of the bunker.

I closed the binder and gripped it tightly under my arm.

I needed to get back to Mara.

I turned toward the steel door, my flashlight beam cutting through the dust.

A shadow blocked the threshold.

My hand instinctively dropped to my holster, my fingers wrapping around the grip of my sidearm.

“Don’t pull the trigger, Natalie,” a calm, familiar voice said.

The flashlight beam caught the polished leather of a designer coat.

Then it illuminated her face.

My mother stood in the doorway, her blonde hair styled despite the storm outside.

She didn’t blink against the bright light of my flashlight.

Two men in dark, tactical gear stood behind her, their weapons lowered but ready.

“Mother,” I said, my voice flat.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” she said, stepping into the room.

The heels of her boots clicked softly against the concrete floor.