Wayne stood right behind console four, pushing his heavy reading glasses up his nose as he watched the glowing digital timer on Claire’s screen.

Claire typed the final status entry into her computer log, tapping her yellow ballpoint once against the brass desk clock next to her keyboard.

The clock read nine twenty-nine p.m., its second hand ticking steadily behind the clear glass.

“Copy, unit twelve,” Claire said, her voice settling half an octave lower into a calm, professional tone.

“Log locked at twenty-one twenty-nine.”

On the landing at Maplewood Drive, Thomas looked up at Daniel, his composure falling apart completely as he realized his daughter had watched him being taken down.