I’d spent years in corporate compliance chasing fraudulent wire transfers and shell companies, and in that work panic is just a slower way of making mistakes.

I made myself take one long breath and buried the frightened little sister I used to be somewhere down in the basement of my mind.

I didn’t turn on the porch light to welcome them. I went through the cabin killing every switch until Whispering Pines was completely dark.

The only light left came from the lightning and the pale glow of my laptop on the kitchen island. I brought up the closed-circuit system I’d paid a premium to have installed before I moved in.

Four infrared feeds bloomed onto the screen — the woods, the driveway, the porch — rendered in stark high-contrast grey.

Then I picked up the satellite phone and called the only person who could help.