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The radio went silent.

My stomach turned hard and sour. He had been here while we were gone. Close enough to touch our doors, our cameras, our lives.

This hadn’t started when the first shot fired. We were already inside it.

Another shot cracked.

Declan opened my bedroom door and pushed me inside.

He came in after me and shut it.

The door swung away from the wall.

My mirror appeared behind it. My reflection in it looked more normal than it should have, considering my whole family was under fire and I was still recovering from the ordeal the day before.

I looked much more composed than I felt. Instead I felt like my vulnerable heart was exposed and divided by ten, each piece in danger on different parts of the property.

Declan locked the door. “Get down.”

I moved toward the side of the bed instead, keeping my pistol low.

His eyes flashed to it. His mouth tightened.

Outside, gunfire cracked again.

Then Riot’s voice burst over the radio, louder than before.

“This one’s a rig!”

I froze. A rig? What did that mean?

Declan turned slightly toward the radio. “What?”

Riot was breathing hard. “Rifle’s rigged. Nobody on it.”

Something moved behind Declan.

My gun came up. Fast. Automatic.

A tall rectangle shifted along the wall behind him.

For one strange second my brain supplied the wrong answer.

The door. No.

The bedroom door was beside it.

Closed.

This was—

The mirror opened.

“Chief—”

He saw my face.

Started turning.