Adam
I watched.
Idiots—full-body black, head to toe, masked up like they’d been hired straight off the set of some third-rate heist flick—spilled across the property. They moved with that over-rehearsed, too-crisp precision that made them look less like real criminals and more like actors who’d just been lectured by a stunt coordinator.
Ropes snaked down from the shadows above. Harnesses clinked. Figures zipped through the air with the kind of mechanical rhythm that didn’t belong in the real world. Shadows stretched and contracted over the house’s outer walls as they landed, boots hitting with muted thuds.
It would have been laughable—borderline embarrassing—if it wasn’t so damn serious.
Yes, I was still there.
I’d had every intention of leaving. In fact, I’d even taken a step toward
