I scream.
The sound tears out of me without warning, sharp and raw, ripping through the quiet of the house like glass through skin. It is not a word. It is not coherent. It is pure panic finally finding a way out of my body, escaping before I can trap it back inside my chest.
“Security,” I scream again. “Now. He’s here.”
The response is immediate.
Boots thunder down the hall, heavy and fast, the sound multiplying as more people move at once. Voices overlap, sharp and controlled. Guns come up in practiced motion as the guards flood the room, spreading out instinctively, weapons trained on the door, the windows, the corners I am no longer capable of tracking. The air feels suddenly crowded and thin at the same time.
“Ma’am, step back,” someone orders.
I try. My body does not cooperate.
