A beam of light slices through the gap. A flashlight, sweeping the kitchen.
I freeze.
He’s using white light. He isn’t trying to be stealthy. He’s trying to blind anyone hiding in the dark. It’s an aggressive, clearing tactic.
I see a slice of the kitchen island. Stainless steel appliances. The white marble countertops.
And a figure.
He wears full tactical black. Helmet. Body armor.
There’s a suppressed, short-barreled carbine in his hand. He turns toward the pantry door. He must not be able to see me through the wood, but if he has some kind of thermal overlay active, he might see the heat leaking through the crack.
I gently pull the door shut.
Pressing my back against the wall, I push Iris back into the shadows of the stairwell.
“One tango. Kitchen,” I breathe directly against her ear.
I reach down, my hand brushing hers. She has the knife in a reverse grip, exactly like I taught her.
I have a pistol. He has a rifle and thermal vision.
If I open the door and shoot, I reveal our position to the rest of the team. If I wait, he opens the door and finds us trapped in a stairwell.
I need to bring him close.
I slide my hand down the wooden banister, feeling for a loose bracket near the bottom tread.
I grip the rail and rattle it.
Clack. Clack.
It’s a tiny sound, but in the silence of the house, it’s a gunshot.
The footsteps in the kitchen stop.
Then, they start moving toward the pantry. Slow. Deliberate.
I press a hand to Iris’s shoulder, forcing her into a crouch. I step back, flattening myself into the corner behind the door hinges.
The knob turns, and the door opens inward.
The beam of the flashlight cuts into the stairwell.
He leads with the rifle barrel, sweeping left across the empty stairs before stepping fully onto the landing to check the drop.
I explode from the corner.
Before he can react, I grab the barrel of his rifle with my left hand, shoving it violently upward. With my right hand, I drive my combat knife up and under the bottom edge of his Kevlar vest, straight into the diaphragm, exactly where I taught Iris to aim.
The soldier’s eyes go wide behind his goggles. He gasps, a wet, choking sound, dropping the rifle to claw at my arm. I twist the blade, stepping into him, riding his weight down to the floor so his armor doesn’t clatter against the wood.
He twitches once, then goes limp.
I pull the blade free, breathing hard.
“Cassian!” Iris gasps, her voice a terrified thread in the dark.
