The sun had barely begun to carve its pale, gray light through the smog of the inner-city districts when I stepped out of the heavy iron gates of the Hayes estate.

The next twenty-four hours passed in a state of suffocating tension.

Paul Marino worked tirelessly at a makeshift command desk set up in the cabin's kitchen, monitoring satellite feeds and encrypted radio frequencies. Outside, the pine trees swayed violently in an incoming mountain storm, casting long, writhing shadows against the iron-shuttered windows.

Victor spent most of his time cleaning his weapons at the wooden dining table, his movements mechanical, precise, and lethally practiced.

I tried to make myself useful by brewing coffee and heating canned soup on the small wood-burning stove. As I set a mug of hot coffee down beside Victor’s elbow, he caught my wrist, stopping me.

“You should be resting in the back room,” Victor said quietly, his thumb brushing against my pulse point.

“I can't sleep,” I admitted, looking down at him. “Every time I close my eyes, I keep thinking about those men in my apartment. I keep thinking about what happens if that... Executioner finds us here.”

Victor set his pistol down on the table and stood up, towering over me. He placed both hands gently on my shoulders, looking deep into my eyes.

“Listen to me, Emily,” Victor said, his voice fierce, unyielding, and absolute. “I built this empire from nothing. I survived betrayals, bullets, and blood baths. I did not bring you out here to die. The Executioner is just a man. And men bleed.”

Before I could answer, a sharp, piercing beep shattered the quiet of the cabin.

At the command desk, Paul bolted upright from his chair, his face entirely devoid of color.

“Boss!” Paul shouted, his voice cracking. “We’ve got a motion trigger on the outer perimeter ridge! Sector four!”

Victor dropped his hands from my shoulders in a fraction of a second, drawing his sidearm from its holster with blinding speed. “Is it an animal?”

“Negative,” Paul slammed his fist down on the console keyboard, bringing up a grainy thermal imaging feed on his laptop screen. A bright white, heat-emitting human figure was steadily moving down the mountain trail toward the cabin, completely ignoring the warning tripwires. “Thermal signature is stationary on the bypass trail. He bypassed the mines without setting them off.”

“He didn't bypass them,” Victor said, his jaw tightening into a hard line of absolute fury. “He disarmed them.”

The lights inside the cabin suddenly flickered and died, plunging the room into darkness, illuminated only by the dying embers of the fireplace and the pale flash of lightning outside.

“Cut off,” Paul muttered, drawing his own weapon. “He’s severed our power relay.”

“Paul, take the back corridor and secure the basement generator,” Victor barked, moving toward the front door with terrifying tactical composure. He turned his head slightly toward me. “Emily. Get behind the stone hearth. Do not move, no matter what you hear.”

I backed away into the shadows of the massive stone fireplace, my hands clamped over my mouth to stifle my ragged breathing.

A heavy, deliberate knock echoed against the cabin’s front oak door.