Chapter 7
The clock on the microwave glowed a harsh 2:14 AM. The house was wrapped in a deep, suffocating silence, broken only by the soft, steady hum of the refrigerator. Maya lay awake in her bed, her mind racing with Evelyn’s warnings and the digital footprint she had uncovered earlier that day. Every creak of the old wooden floorboards and every rustle of wind against the window glass sounded like a potential intruder testing the perimeter of her home.
Suddenly, a sharp, metallic clang echoed from the backyard, followed immediately by the frantic scrabble of claws against the wooden deck. Maya bolted upright, throwing off the duvet in a single, fluid motion. She slipped quietly out of bed, her bare feet making no sound against the carpeted floor. She crept down the hallway, pausing outside Leo’s bedroom door to ensure he was still fast asleep in his bed, his soft breathing providing a tiny anchor of normalcy in the growing storm.
She made her way stealthily into the kitchen, keeping low to avoid casting a silhouette against the moonlight filtering through the windows. Peering through the glass of the back patio door, she held her breath. The motion-activated floodlight mounted above the back porch clicked on, bathing the backyard in a harsh, glaring white light.
A figure was crouched near the edge of the back deck, rummaging through the large plastic recycling bin. At first glance, it looked like a stray raccoon, but as the figure stood up straight, Maya’s breath hitched in her throat. It wasn't an animal. It was a tall, heavily built man wearing a dark tactical vest over a black hoodie. In his gloved hands, he held a sleek black device resembling a digital scanner, sweeping it methodically across the siding of Maya’s house, pausing near the windows and air vents.
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Panic threatened to overwhelm her, but years of living in a rough urban environment had taught Maya how to channel fear into cold, calculating focus. She didn't scream, and she didn't turn on the kitchen lights. Instead, she backed away silently from the door, feeling along the wall until her fingers found the heavy wooden baseball bat Leo had left near the pantry after his last practice. She gripped the handle tightly, testing its balance in her palms.
Through the glass, the man in the tactical vest suddenly paused, his head snapping around toward the back door as if he sensed her presence watching him from the shadows. His face was obscured by a black balaclava, leaving only two cold, emotionless eyes visible in the harsh glare of the floodlight. He stepped closer to the glass, raising a gloved hand to tap mockingly on the pane, a clear and chilling message that her home was entirely vulnerable to whatever forces Jax had set in motion.
