Chapter 5 - THE SECOND WAVE"Get down!" Marcus roared, shoving Clara behind the concrete foundation pillar as the heavy thud of combat boots echoed from the floorboards upstairs.
These weren't local patrol officers responding to his backup call. The cadence was too disciplined, too silent, and far too heavy.
"They're here," Clara whimpered, her hands flying to her mouth to stifle a sob. "Arthur’s associates. They don't leave loose ends. If they find the lockbox, we're all dead."
Upstairs, the sound of splintering wood announced that the front door had been kicked entirely off its frame. Shouts echoed through the living room—cold, tactical commands delivered in military jargon.
"Sweep the perimeter. Clear the rooms. Secure the package."
Marcus drew his service pistol, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He had fifteen rounds in his magazine and one spare on his belt. Against a professional tactical team equipped with body armor and long guns, standard police training dictated falling back and waiting for a perimeter sweep.
But Caleb and Emma were still upstairs.
"Stay here," Marcus whispered fiercely to Clara. "Do not make a sound, no matter what you hear."
Creeping up the basement stairs in the pitch dark, Marcus utilized every ounce of his tactical training from his years in the infantry before joining the force. He reached the top of the stairwell, peering through the shattered frame of the basement door into the dim twilight filtering through the living room windows.
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Two men in unmarked black tactical gear stood in the center of the room. They weren't wearing police badges; instead, a stylized silver serpent insignia was stitched onto their shoulder plates.
And kneeling between them, shivering and terrified with their hands locked behind their heads, were Caleb and Emma.
