The moment the security grid collapsed, everything went silent.
No alarms.
No alerts.
Just the eerie hum of a house that knew it had been stripped of protection.
I moved before I could think, grabbing the emergency pack James kept under the fireplace panel — encrypted phone, stun gun, signal flares.
He was already on the comms.
"Lock down the east and west wings," he barked into the headset. "Secure the vault room. Pull Miles in—now!"
I ran to his side. "They're here, aren't they?"
James looked at me with grim certainty. "They never left."
---
12:41 a.m.
We split up.
James took the east wing to secure the server mainframe.
I took the west — the old gallery wing where I heard the first noise.
Every step echoed.
Every hallway stretched too long.
I held the stun gun in my palm, tight, my thumb resting on the switch.
> Don't think. Just move.
That's when I saw him.
A man in black. Masked. Moving silently through the hallway just ahead.
I ducked behind a marble pillar, breath locked in my throat.
Then—he turned.
Too fast.
Too close.
> He saw me.
I fired.
A crackle of electricity sparked through the hall as the stun gun hit his chest.
He crumpled.
But more shadows moved in the distance.
Too many.
> They were here for a full sweep.
---
12:57 a.m.
Back in the east wing, James had barricaded himself inside the server room.
"They're not just here to kill us," he said through the comms. "They're here to erase everything. Every file. Every copy. They want us gone — and forgotten."
I reached the gallery just as another masked intruder turned into the corridor.
Only this time, I didn't hesitate.
Two quick steps. Stun gun raised.
He fell.
But I wasn't fast enough for the one behind him.
A sharp jab hit my ribs. I stumbled.
Another figure grabbed me from behind.
I screamed.
Then — gunfire.
Loud. Close.
The man holding me dropped.
I spun.
Miles.
"I told you to watch the damn west wing," he said, panting, blood running down his arm. "You always were the stubborn one."
"Better late than never," I whispered.
---
1:13 a.m.
We regrouped in the control room.
James was covered in blood — not his.
He tossed a small device onto the table.
"They were trying to plant a virus in the central system. Would've wiped out every trace of Windsor Industries and redirected our accounts."
Miles dropped a wounded guard onto the floor. "He's not local. Military-trained. Not freelance."
"They're funded," I said, catching my breath. "Someone is still paying for all this."
James met my eyes.
"I thought Rhys was the head," he said. "But he wasn't. He was the sword."
"Then who's the hand?" I whispered.
---
Suddenly, the estate lights snapped back on.
Emergency backup.
James's laptop pinged.
A message appeared on the screen.
> "The hand has many faces. And you haven't seen the last one."
— A.
I stared.
"A?" I asked.
James went pale.
"Alcott's codename wasn't A," he said slowly.
I narrowed my eyes. "Then whose was it?"
He looked at me.
And his voice dropped to a whisper.
> "Adrian."