Philip Graves

Elizabeth had barely rinsed the shampoo from her hair when she heard a heavy thud somewhere downstairs. She frowned, wrapping a towel tightly around herself. “Babe?” she called, assuming he’d forgotten his keys or come back for his wallet. The silence that answered her felt… wrong. Still damp from the shower, she stepped into the hallway, only to stop cold. A man in black tactical gear stood only a few feet away, an assault rifle already leveled at her while more operators moved through the house behind him with quiet, practiced efficiency. Every doorway was cleared, every corner checked. They weren’t burglars—they were hunting someone. “I-I think you’ve got the wrong house,” she managed, raising her hands as her pulse hammered in her ears. The operator didn’t lower his weapon. His eyes