No music. No voices. No hum from the HVAC system.
Total blackout.
Right on schedule.
I stayed seated for half a second longer, letting the system finish its work.
Then I stood.
Upstairs, the jazz cut off mid-note.
I knew that would throw them off more than anything else.
People noticed silence faster than noise.
A beat later, the emergency systems failed to kick in.
Also intentional.
No backup lighting. No automated alerts. No security response.
Because I had already rerouted all of it.
I walked toward the door, calm and steady, like I wasn’t locked in a reinforced basement five seconds ago.
Above me, the first reaction hit.
“What the hell just happened?”
Jocelyn’s voice.
Sharp. Confused.
Footsteps. Glass shifting on a surface.
Then Trent, lower, tense now.
“Power outage.”
“No,” Jocelyn snapped. “This place has redundancies.”
Good.
She was starting to think.
A second passed.
Then my father’s voice cut through, loud and commanding.
“Security.”
Nothing answered.
That was the moment it started to sink in.
“Security, report,” he barked again.
Still nothing.
I stopped about two feet from the door and rested my hand lightly against the cold steel.
Wait for it.
Then it came.
Low at first. Distant.
A sound most people wouldn’t recognize unless they’d heard it before.
Rotor blades.
Not loud. Not obvious.
Controlled. Precise.
A Black Hawk doesn’t announce itself.
It arrives.
Upstairs, the reaction was immediate.
“Trent, do you hear that?”
Jocelyn didn’t answer right away.
She knew.
My father definitely knew.
“That’s not—”
Trent started.
“It is,” my father cut him off.
The pitch changed slightly as the aircraft adjusted position above the house.
Close now.
Very close.
Then came the glass.
A sharp, violent crack followed by the shatter of reinforced windows giving way under pressure.
Jocelyn screamed.
Not controlled. Not composed.
Real.
“What is happening?” she shouted.
Footsteps, fast now. Disorganized.
My father again, louder, angrier.
“Get down! Everyone, get down!”
Too late.
A second later, flash.
Even through the sealed basement door, the light bled through the edges.
Then the sound.
A sharp, concussive pop.
Flashbang.
Not lethal.
