THE DAY THE PAST CAME BACK TO THE PLAYGROUND WITH A TATTOOED HAND AND A PROMISE

A sharp crack echoed from the back of the house.

Sarah dropped the phone, the clatter against the hardwood floor forgotten as a surge of pure adrenaline overrode her fear. It wasn't the sound of the front door. It was the distinct, heavy crunch of wood splintering near the back utility room.

“Emma!” Sarah gasped, spinning around and sprinting down the dark hallway toward her daughter’s bedroom.

The house was pitch black, but she didn’t need light; she knew every floorboard, every turn, every obstacle. She burst into Emma’s room, flipping the wall switch instinctively. Nothing happened. The bulb had been unscrewed.

“Mommy?” a tiny, sleepy voice mumbled from the bed.

“Hush, baby. Stay under the covers. Don't make a sound,” Sarah hissed, rushing to the bed and pulling the thick comforter over the little girl’s head.

Heavy footsteps thumped against the floorboards of the kitchen—the very room Sarah had been standing in moments before. Someone was inside her home. The clean-up crew had stopped watching and started hunting.

Sarah backed away from the bed, her hand sweeping blindly across the top of Emma’s dresser. Her fingers brushed against a heavy brass jewelry box. Grasping it by the base, she held it like a weapon, stepping into the hallway just as a tall, broad figure silhouetted in the doorway loomed into view.

The intruder wore a black tactical jacket, a dark baseball cap pulled low, and carried a suppressed pistol held close to his chest. He moved with cold, mechanical efficiency.

Sarah’s breath hitched. She raised the heavy brass box, preparing to swing with everything she had, but the man didn't look at her face. His eyes were fixed on the hallway behind her, toward Emma’s bedroom door.

“It’s over, Mrs. Parker,” a flat, emotionless voice murmured from beneath the cap. “Where is the hard drive?”

“I don't know what you're talking about!” Sarah screamed, her voice cracking with fury and terror. She lunged forward, swinging the brass box with all her might.

The intruder ducked effortlessly, the heavy metal grazing his shoulder. Before she could recover her balance, a massive, gloved hand reached out from the darkness behind the intruder.

A heavy forearm wrapped around the tactical agent's neck in a brutal, silent chokehold. With a sickening crunch, Jax slammed the intruder against the hallway wall. The man went limp instantly, slumping like a sack of wet cement onto the carpet.

Jax stood over the unconscious body, breathing heavily through his graying beard, his leather vest scuffed from the scuffle.