Chapter 3: Midnight’s Shadow
The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed twelve. As the final toll faded, the front door swung open. Two figures stepped inside, dressed in tactical black, their faces obscured by night-vision optics. They didn't speak. They didn't need to. They were professionals, and they were here to finish the contract.
Sarah watched from the shadows of the kitchen, her hand resting on the counter where she had placed the kitchen knife. She knew she couldn't fight them in a head-on collision, but she knew the house better than they did. She knew the loose floorboard in the pantry; she knew which stairs creaked under the weight of a man over two hundred pounds.
One of the men moved toward the living room, his laser sight sweeping across the floor where the money still lay. "Target isn't here," he muttered, his voice amplified by a comms unit. "The house is empty."
"Check the bedrooms," the other replied, moving toward the hallway.
Sarah grabbed Sophie and whispered, "Run to the garage, start the engine. Don't look back."
"Mommy, no—"
May you like
"Go!"
Sophie vanished into the dark hallway. Sarah stood up, picked up a heavy cast-iron pan, and hurled it into the far corner of the kitchen. As the men turned, distracted by the noise, Sarah lunged—not at them, but for the garage door button on the wall. She slammed it. The heavy metal door began to grind upward, just as the men spun around, their weapons leveling.
