The silence on Cypress Avenue stretched, heavy and suffocating, broken only by the ragged wheezing of the fallen man.

The neighborhood of Cypress Avenue was unnaturally quiet as the station wagon pulled into the alleyway behind house number 412. The streetlamps flickered under the humid summer night air.

Marcus signaled for Maya to kill the headlights. They coasted silently into the unattached garage, the heavy wooden door closing behind them with a low thud.

"Stay low," Marcus instructed, peering through the side window of the garage toward the main house. "They'll have at least one sniper watching the front entrance and two rovers on the perimeter."

"How do we get inside without being seen?" Maya asked, pulling Willa close.

"The crawlspace," Willa whispered.

Marcus looked at her, surprised. "You know about the crawlspace?"

"Dad showed me," Willa said proudly. "He called it the secret tunnel. It starts behind the water heater in the garage and goes straight under the living room."

Marcus let out a low whistle. "Arthur... you brilliant son of a bitch."

Using a flash of light from his tactical torch, Marcus cleared the clutter away from the back wall of the garage. Behind a rusted sheet of plywood was a small, square access hatch leading into the foundation of the house.

"I'll go first," Marcus said, squeezing his broad shoulders through the narrow opening. "Maya, bring up the rear. Keep Willa between us."

The crawlspace was dark, damp, and smelled of red clay and old timber. They dragged themselves forward on their bellies, navigating through dusty cobwebs and concrete footings.

Above them, through the floorboards, they could hear heavy footsteps pacing through the dark living room. Aegis contractors were already inside the house, searching for the hidden drive.

"Sweep the master bedroom again!" a harsh voice barked from directly above their heads. "Director Vane wants this house burned to the ground by dawn to simulate an electrical fire!"

Maya’s heart hammered violently against her ribs. They were going to destroy her home, her memories, everything Arthur had left behind.

"Hold here," Marcus whispered, placing a hand on Maya’s shoulder.

He crawled quietly toward the central support pillar under the living room floor. Mounted into the reinforced concrete pillar was a heavy, rust-resistant iron junction box, secured with an industrial combination dial and a biometric thumbprint scanner—a custom installation Arthur had built years ago under the guise of an earthquake stabilization system.

"This is it," Marcus whispered.

He pulled the brass cylinder from Willa’s hand, inserting the tiny micro-drive into the side slot of the junction box. The scanner lit up with a low, crimson glow.

BIOMETRIC VERIFICATION REQUIRED.

Marcus pressed his thumb against the glass pane. The scanner hummed, a red laser line sweeping over his skin.

ANALYSIS: MATCHING GENETIC PROFILE... 98.8% CONFIRMATION. ACCESS GRANTED.

With a heavy hydraulic clunk, the iron door of the junction box swung open. Inside lay a metallic briefcase alongside three heavy glass vials containing soil samples labeled with toxicological hazard warnings.

Before Marcus could reach for the briefcase, the floorboard directly above them groaned violently. A heavy boot kicked through the dry rotting wood, sending a shower of splinters and plaster down onto Marcus’s face.