The house was plunged into darkness. Only the flickering streetlight outside cast uneven shadows across the walls.
Alina's heartbeat thundered in her ears.
"Stay behind me," Jesse growled, gripping the bat tighter as he moved toward the front door.
"No," Alina snapped, clutching her briefcase against her chest. "This file doesn't leave my hands."
Victor pulled her back just as the window shattered behind them. Glass rained across the floor. Gran let out a sharp gasp but didn't flinch.
"They're coming through the back too," Victor muttered.
Alina's mind raced. The file. If it was taken, her entire company-and her name-could burn to the ground. Virella wanted her business, her silence, and this document was proof of everything they were hiding.
She needed to protect it.
"Basement," Gran hissed, yanking open the door beneath the stairs. "Go now."
Alina didn't wait. She dashed down the creaky stairs, every footstep echoing as she descended into the cold, dim basement. She flipped on the emergency flashlight, its beam cutting through the darkness like a sword.
The basement was cluttered with old furniture, dusty boxes, and crates. She needed somewhere hidden-somewhere secure.
She spotted an old metal toolbox under a tarp. She threw it open, dumped out rusted tools, and stuffed the documents inside. She snapped it shut and shoved it behind a stack of firewood.
Upstairs, a loud thud followed by Jesse's voice: "Back off!"
Alina's chest tightened. She grabbed a fireplace poker leaning against the wall and crept up a few stairs, peeking through the cracked door.
In the hallway, two masked men had forced their way in.
Jesse swung the bat, knocking one clean into the wall. Victor tackled the other, wrestling for control. Gran stood on the side with a frying pan in hand, her eyes wild but gleaming with satisfaction.
"You broke my window, punk!" she shouted and cracked the frying pan against the intruder's head. The man dropped like a sack of potatoes.
Alina ducked back down into the basement, heart racing.
Suddenly, footsteps.
Behind her.
She turned.
Another figure-one that hadn't come through the front. This one had slipped in from the back, silent as smoke.
He pointed a gun at her.
"Where's the file?"
Alina swallowed, tightening her grip on the poker.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
He stepped closer. "Don't play games. Give it now, and maybe you don't end up in a body bag."
Alina's breath trembled. She stood her ground. "It's not here."
The man moved forward, and that's when Alina made her move.
She swung the poker hard, hitting his wrist. The gun clattered to the floor. She lunged forward, ramming her shoulder into him. They stumbled into the wooden crates. She fought fiercely-elbows, fists, anything.
She screamed loud enough to shake the floorboards.
Jesse burst in seconds later, bleeding from his brow.
Without hesitation, he tackled the man, pinning him to the wall.
"You okay?" he panted.
Alina nodded breathlessly, glancing toward the hidden toolbox.
"Yeah. It's safe."
Victor ran down behind them, grabbing the man's gun and pointing it at him.
"You picked the wrong house," he snarled.
The man growled back, "It's already too late. She's marked. All of you are."
Alina's blood ran cold.
The lights flickered on.
Sirens blared outside. Naomi had called the police.
Jesse looked at Alina, chest heaving. "You sure it's hidden?"
Alina nodded. "I made sure."
He took her hand, squeezed it, then turned toward the man.
"Let them come. We're ready now."
But the intruder
only smiled through bloodied lips.
"You're not ready. You don't know what's coming next."