A primal, suffocating rage threatened to break through my tactical calm. I forced it down, compartmentalizing the anger into a weaponized focus.
I tapped my earpiece. “Echo. Kill the lights.”
“Going dark in three… two… one.”
Instantly, the entire estate plunged into pitch-black darkness. The golden glow vanished, replaced by the eerie, pale moonlight filtering through the trees. Inside the study, I heard the faint muffled shouts of confusion.
I didn’t wait. I pulled my weapon, stepped up to the French doors leading into the study, and shattered the heavy glass lock with a single, precisely placed kick.
The heavy wooden doors swung open, banging against the interior walls.
“What the hell was that?” Scott’s voice boomed in the darkness. “Brian, get the flashlight from the desk.”
“Nobody move,” I said. My voice wasn’t loud, but it possessed a terrifying, chilling stillness that immediately froze the room.
I clicked on the tactical flashlight attached to the under-rail of my Sig Sauer. The blinding, 1000-lumen beam sliced through the darkness, illuminating Brian’s face. He was blinking wildly, his hands raised to block the light.
“Who is that? Get the hell out of my house before I shoot you!” Arthur roared from his chair, his voice cracking with age and unearned arrogance.
“Keep your hands where I can see them, Arthur,” I said, shifting the beam of light to the old man.
