Panic

The attic stairs were steep, the wood groaning under their combined weight. Elena pushed Maya ahead of her, the heat of the unventilated space hitting them like a physical blow. The air smelled of dust and ancient insulation.

"Keep going," Elena whispered. "Don't stop."

They reached the top. The attic was a maze of boxes and shrouded furniture, illuminated by the moonlight filtering through a small dormer window.

Elena navigated through the clutter, her mind racing. The roof access was in the far corner, a small hatch used for maintenance. It led to the widow's walk.

Below them, the house was alive with noise. Doors slamming. Voices shouting. The heavy, rhythmic thud of boots on the stairs. They were clearing the rooms. They were moving up.

"What do we do?" Maya asked, her voice thin with panic.

"We get to the roof," Elena said. "Liam knows the layout. He'll see us."

She reached the hatch. It was secured with a rusty latch. She pushed against it, straining.

It didn't budge.

She slammed her shoulder into it. *Thud.*

"Open," she hissed. "Damn you, open."

From the bottom of the attic stairs, a voice boomed.

"Police! Show us your hands!"

They were here.

Elena looked around desperately. There was nowhere to hide. The boxes were too small, the shadows too thin.

"Elena," Maya whispered.

Elena turned. Maya was pointing at the dormer window. It was small, but it opened onto the slate roof.

"Go," Elena said.

She helped Maya climb onto a trunk, then through the window. The girl slipped out onto the steep pitch of the roof, clinging to the gutter.

Elena followed. She squeezed through the frame, scraping her hip against the wood. The night air was cool, a shock after the stifling attic.

They were on the roof. Thirty feet up. The ground below was a tapestry of shadows and police lights.

Red and blue strobes washed over the facade of the house, illuminating the trees, the driveway, the high iron gates.

Elena scanned the perimeter. The police cars were clustered at the front. The SWAT van was blocking the main entrance.

But the back... the back was dark. The marsh side.

"Look," Maya said, pointing toward the tree line.

A single flicker of light. High beams. Once, twice.

Liam.

He was there. He was waiting.

But they had to get down.

"The trellis," Elena said, pointing to the thick wisteria vine that climbed the side of the house near the master bedroom balcony. It was old, woody, thick as a man's arm. "Can you climb?"

"I... I think so."

"Go. Fast."

Maya moved toward the edge of the roof, her sneakers slipping on the slate.

*Crack.*

The sound came from behind them. Not a footstep. A speaker.

The intercom system mounted under the eaves.

"Elena."

It was Constance’s voice. Amplified. Distorted. Echoing across the roof like the voice of God.

"There is nowhere to go. The house is surrounded. The police know you have a hostage. They have authorized lethal force."

Elena froze. She looked down at the SWAT team. They were taking positions. Snipers.

"Let Maya go," Constance said. "Let her come inside. We can help you, Elena. We can get you the treatment you need."

"Don't listen to her!" Maya shouted.

"Quiet," Elena hissed. She grabbed Maya’s arm, pulling her down behind a chimney stack.

"Stay there, Elena," Constance’s voice crackled, smooth and terrifyingly calm. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be. The doctor is coming."

The attic hatch behind them burst open.

A figure climbed out onto the roof.

It wasn't the police.

It was Dr. Thorne. He was holding a syringe. And he wasn't alone.

Julian climbed out behind him.