Just enough to disorient.
I closed my eyes for a fraction of a second out of habit, even though I couldn’t see it directly.
Upstairs, everything broke.
Voices overlapping. Furniture scraping. Someone hit the floor hard.
Trent’s voice, panicked now.
“What the hell is this? Is this a raid?”
Jocelyn, breathless. “No. No, this can’t—”
Another sound cut through.
The front door not opening.
Breaking.
A heavy impact. Then another. Then the unmistakable crack of reinforced wood giving way under force.
Boots.
Multiple. Fast. Disciplined.
Not security. Not private contractors.
This was trained entry.
“Federal agents! Do not move!”
The command echoed through the house, clear, sharp, no hesitation.
I let out a slow breath.
Perfect timing.
Upstairs, everything shifted from confusion to fear.
Real fear.
“Trent—Jocelyn—what did you do?”
“I didn’t—this isn’t—” she stammered.
“On your knees. Hands where we can see them.”
More boots. More movement. The low hum of equipment.
Then the thin, precise lines of red laser sights cutting through the dark.
I didn’t need to see it.
I could picture it perfectly.
Trent froze.
Jocelyn too.
Because no one argues with that kind of entrance.
Not when you don’t know who’s pointing at you.
“On your knees,” a second voice snapped.
Heavier command presence.
That would be the team lead.
A pause.
Then the sound of bodies hitting the floor.
“Hands up.”
Compliance.
Fast.
“They think this is a terrorist raid,” I said quietly to myself.
Not wrong.
Just incomplete.
Upstairs, my father tried one last time to assert control.
“Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with?” he shouted.
There was a beat of silence.
Then the response came back calm and flat.
“Yes, sir. We do.”
That was it.
No escalation. No argument. Just acknowledgment.
Which was worse.
Much worse.
I glanced down at my watch.
All systems green. Connection stable. Operation complete.
Time to step in.
I reached toward the door.
Not the handle.
There wasn’t one.
Instead, I tapped the watch twice in quick succession.
A soft vibration confirmed the command.
Then a click.
Subtle. Mechanical.
From inside the lock.
Not forced. Not broken.
Opened.
I wrapped my fingers around the edge of the door and pulled.
It moved smoothly.
No resistance.
The seal broke with a low hiss as pressure equalized.
Fresh air slipped in, along with noise, voices, movement, control.
I stepped forward, up the short set of stairs, one step at a time.
No rush. No hesitation.
At the top, the scene opened up exactly how I expected.
Dark room. Broken glass across the floor. Furniture pushed out of place. Red laser lines cutting through the space like a grid.
Jocelyn on her knees.
