Page 26 of Oliver

I passed the closed guest room, the half-lit hallway that led to the laundry room.

Nothing.

I was just about to breathe again when something flickered at the edge of my vision.

The backyard security light.

It was off five minutes ago.

Now it was on.

Movement.

I darted into Oliver’s room and crouched below the window. Peered through the blinds.

A shadow.

Tall. Broad. Circling the far fence.

Tag should’ve been on patrol. I didn’t see him.

My fingers shook as I reached for my phone and typed a message to Oliver.

Someone’s outside. Tag’s not answering. I’m locking down.

He read it instantly.

Three dots. Then a response:

Do not engage. I’m two minutes out. Lock every door. Get to the panic room. NOW.

My pulse spiked.

I moved fast. Locked the back door. Deadbolted the front. Closed every blind. Grabbed the emergency go-bag Oliver had shown me, just in case and slid it over my shoulder.

Then I sprinted down the hallway to the hidden panel behind the bookshelf.

The panic room was small—reinforced steel walls, bulletproof glass screen, silent air filtration. It smelled like metal and adrenaline.

I slammed the door and locked it behind me, my back against the wall, knife still gripped in my hand.

Seconds passed.

Then I heard it.

The back door was clicking open.

Someone was inside.

I covered my mouth to keep from gasping.

He was here.

Viktor—or one of his men.

And I was alone.

But I wasn’t afraid.

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