Hundreds of powerful people filled Seattle’s Grand Pacific Ballroom, yet the seventeen-year-old daughter of the most feared mafia boss on the West Coast stood against a wall as if she were part of the decoration.

"Run!" I screamed into the darkness.

Chaos exploded in the blacked-out room. A silenced gun frame cracked—THWIP! THWIP!—bullets shattering glass cabinets right where Graham had been standing a second before.

I grabbed Mia’s hand in the absolute dark, relying entirely on my memory of the room’s layout. Because of my years working with Deaf clients in various environments, I was used to navigating space visually and spatially without relying on verbal cues.

I dragged Mia under the central desk, wrapping my arm around her mouth to keep her frantic breathing quiet.

Stay low. Don't move, I signed against her palm, using tactile sign language so she could feel my words in the dark.

She gripped my arm tightly, nodding against my shoulder.

Across the room, I heard heavy boots shuffling on the concrete floor, followed by the sound of a brutal physical struggle. Glass shattered. A heavy body hit a steel cabinet.

"You always were quick, Graham!" Marcus’s voice echoed through the dark, laced with vicious amusement. "But you're fighting blind! I have thermal goggles!"

My heart stopped. Marcus had night vision. Graham was at an absolute disadvantage.

I heard Graham groan—a heavy blow connecting with his ribs.

I couldn't just sit there and watch him get executed. I reached out in the dark under the desk, my fingers frantically searching the floor until they brushed against something hard and metallic.

The silver handgun Graham had set on the tray earlier. It had been knocked off during the initial commotion.

My hands trembled violently as I picked up the heavy weapon. I had never fired a gun in my life. But I knew how thermal goggles worked—they tracked heat signatures.

Beside the desk was an emergency chemical flare station mounted on the wall. I reached up, grabbed a heavy red flare, and struck the cap.

BLAZING MAGENTA LIGHT EXPLODED IN THE ROOM.

"ARRRGH!" Marcus shrieked, instantly grabbing his night-vision goggles as the intense, blinding heat and light burned through his thermal sensors.

"Graham! Now!" I screamed, tossing the gun across the floor toward the center of the room.

Graham, recovered instantly from the flash, kicked Marcus’s legs out from under him. The massive head of security crashed onto the concrete. Graham dove, grabbed the sliding gun from the floor, rolled onto his back, and fired three precise shots.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The thunderous sound deafened the room.

Marcus collapsed onto the floor, motionless.

The brilliant red smoke from the flare filled the room, casting long, dramatic shadows over the medical equipment.

Graham stood up slowly, clutching his side where he’d been struck, breathing heavily. He looked through the red haze at me, his eyes wide with shock and something resembling awe.

"Claire..." he gasped, coughing through the smoke.

Mia scrambled out from under the desk and threw her arms around her father. Graham collapsed to his knees, wrapping his arms around his daughter, holding her close as if he would never let her go again.

I sat back against the metal desk, the adrenaline draining from my body, leaving me shaking violently.

Graham looked over Mia’s shoulder, meeting my gaze through the burning smoke.