Atlanta, Georgia – 2:04 AM


The house had gone silent.


Too silent.


The kind of silence that didn’t feel natural—like the walls themselves were holding their breath. Talia and Simone stood motionless in the office, blueprint still unfurled on the table, that whisper echoing in their ears.


“Talia…”


It was faint. Male. Drawn-out. Like wind dragging through a throat.


Simone’s pistol was raised, her stance solid. “He’s in the damn walls.”


Talia swallowed hard, then moved to the panel beside the fireplace—another one of Marcus’s “design upgrades.” She pressed a series of hidden buttons beneath the mantle, and a small compartment popped open.


Inside: a panel of switches. One of them was labeled CCTV Power.


Talia flipped it off.


Every screen in the house went black.


She looked at Simone. “If he can’t watch us, we move faster.”


They retraced their steps to the blueprint. Talia pointed to one of the hidden passageways.


“This one runs behind the master bathroom. It connects to the floor above the kitchen—and ends at the basement stairwell. If he’s been moving through it, that’s how he got in and out of the guest room without setting off the alarms.”


Simone’s eyes narrowed. “So what’s the move?”


Talia looked at her.


“We draw him out.”


Twenty minutes later, the house was lit only by moonlight.


Talia stood in the bathroom, door half-open, brushing her hair as if nothing had happened. She was dressed like she had just finished a shower—robe, slippers, skin damp. The room looked ordinary, lived-in.


But beneath the floor tiles, Simone was waiting.


Talia had remembered a crawlspace panel from her drafts—small enough to hide in, accessible beneath the freestanding tub. From there, Simone had a view of the wall duct that led to the interior passageway.


The bait was set.


Talia tried to act normal. She hummed softly. She brushed her curls. Her hands shook.


Then—barely audible—a soft click.


The duct in the wall shifted.


Her breath caught.


From behind the mirror, a shadow moved. Slowly. Carefully. The outline of a man pressed to the interior panel, just behind the tiles.


Watching her.


Simone moved like a panther. She kicked open the crawlspace panel and burst into the bathroom with her pistol aimed at the mirror.


“Hands where I can see ‘em!” she barked.


But the shadow darted.


Glass shattered.


Talia screamed as the mirror crashed inward, and the man fell into the bathroom—face covered in a tactical mask, body dressed in all black. He swung something—metal, sharp—at Simone, who ducked and fired.


BANG.

BANG.


Blood sprayed across the porcelain sink and shattered tiles.


The man stumbled backward, groaning, and hit the floor.


Talia rushed forward, heart pounding. Simone stood over the figure, gun still trained on his chest.


Talia knelt down and yanked off the mask.


It wasn’t Marcus.


It was someone else.


Young. Black. Mid-20s. Tattoo on his neck: a chess piece. The knight.


Simone’s jaw tightened. “You know him?”


Talia shook her head. “No. But I know who might.”


She turned toward the door.


“I’m calling Kenyatta Briggs.”