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Lightning flashes outside, and thunder follows so loud that the window pane rattles. In the midst of the pain, I close my eyes and silently pray to a God I thought had long abandoned me.

God, I’m not one of yours, but I’d like to be if you’d give me another chance.

I open my eyes, anticipating seeing the grimy kitchen, but everything is still encased in darkness. The only light is coming from the laptop.

Shouts echo from deeper inside the house. Everything happens at once. El-Maati shouts back in Arabic and loosens his grip.

I drop my shoulder and slam into him, shoving with everything I’ve got. He stumbles but grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking me off balance. Pain explodes at my scalp as I twist, throwing my weight against him. We hit the floor hard.

He curses, scrabbling for control, but I’m already crawling, slipping through blood—Mona’s blood—slick and warm beneath my palms. The back door’s ahead. I lunge for it.

My fingers fumble at the handle, too slippery to grip. I wipe them on my shirt and try again—twist, shove. The door groans open under my weight, and I spill out into the night.

Rain slams into me, cold and punishing. I stagger down the steps, vision swimming, lungs heaving for air.

The street’s just ahead—freedom and backup within reach.

But I don’t make it.

A hand clamps down on my arm, yanking me back with brutal force.

I scream and thrash, but it’s too late. The stench of garlic and sweat hits me like a wall, and Hamza’s voice rasps hot in my ear.

“I will make you talk. And I will enjoy it.”

Mick

Sprinting full tilt, I cross the street, Caleb tight on my flank. Jake swings the van into position just as I hit the grass, diving for cover a heartbeat before lightning splits the sky.

The decoy’s right on cue—Verity and Reese’s rental barrels down the street, engine roaring as it swerves toward the van. That was the plan: Verity draws eyes to the front, sows confusion, Delilah kills the power, and the rest of us move in.

Static charges the air. Rain slicks my skin. Even with goggles, the grass could be hiding anything.

Caleb skids in beside me, eyes locked on the side window. Brooke’s inside. I see her silhouette—she’s by the door, wrists bound but still standing.

I tap my side pocket. Glass cutter’s there. We’re seconds from breach.

A woman’s scream punches the air.

Not Brooke.

The scream came from outside.

Confused, I jerk my head toward the sound, heart lurching.

Before I can move, Caleb grabs my shoulder—two fingers, sharp and quick. Military hand signal. Check it out.

He doesn’t have to say a word. He’s staying here. He’ll get Brooke out.

I have to go.

Even if every instinct screams to stay.

I shift low and break left, pulse pounding in my ears like war drums.

Through the rain, I spot movement at the side of the house.

Samantha.