Page 63 of Whisper

“Nowhere to run to.” His voice is grim, matter-of-fact. “They’ve got the street covered. Front, back, probably rooftops too. We dig in.”

Terror claws up my throat. “Dig in how?”

He’s already moving, pulling tactical gear from hidden compartments I didn’t even know existed. A heavy vest appears in his hands.

“Arms up.”

“Cooper, I don’t understand?—”

“Arms up. Now.”

I raise my arms, and he slides the tactical vest overmy head, his fingers quick and efficient as he adjusts the straps. The weight settles across my shoulders like armor, heavy and foreign.

“Safe room,” he says, guiding me toward what I thought was a closet door. “Reinforced. You’ll be secure.”

He opens the door to reveal a small space lined with steel plates, emergency supplies, and communication equipment. A single chair sits in the center.

“I can’t just hide while you?—”

He presses a pistol into my hands. The metal is cold, heavier than I expected.

“Safety’s here. Point and squeeze. Don’t think, just shoot.” His green eyes lock onto mine. “I’m going to knock three times, pause, then twice more. Don’t open for anything else. Anyone else. Understood?”

My hands shake around the weapon. “Cooper, this is insane. I don’t know how to?—”

“Eliza.” His voice cuts through my panic like a blade. “I command?—”

“And I obey,” I finish automatically, the words falling from my lips before my brain actually thinks them.

Something fierce flashes in his eyes. “That’s my girl. Now get in the room. Lock the door. Wait for my signal.”

The sound of shattering glass echoes from the front of the house.

“Go. Now.”

He pushes me gently but firmly into the safe room. The door closes with a heavy click, and multiple locks engage automatically—mechanical tumblers falling into place, electronic bolts sliding home with soft whirs, the final seal of reinforced steel plates settling into their housing with a dull thunk.

I’m alone in the dark with a gun I don’t know how to use and the sound of Cooper’s footsteps moving away from me.

Then the shooting starts.

The first gunshot makes me jump so hard I nearly drop the pistol. Then another. And another. The sound is deafening even through the reinforced walls—sharp cracks that split the air itself.

Voices shout over the gunfire. Commands I can’t understand. Cooper’s voice, lower, harder than I’ve ever heard it.

More shots. A sustained burst that goes on forever.

Something heavy crashes. Glass shatters. The tactical vest digs into my ribs as I press myself against the back wall, trying to make myself smaller.

The gunfire is constant now—a rhythm of violence that makes my ears ring and my heart slam against my chest. How many bullets does one gun hold? How many people are out there?

How is Cooper surviving this?

Then—silence.

Sudden. Complete. Terrifying.

I strain to hear something, anything. Footsteps. Voices. Proof that Cooper is still alive.