I walked straight off a classified military mission still covered in Colorado dust, ready to wrap my mom in the biggest hug, only to find her sitting on her bed covered in fresh purple bruises, looking like she’d aged 20 long years in the single week I’d been gone.

We spent the next three days preparing.

Marcus brought in three of his best men. All former military. All people we could trust.

The FBI was notified, but they couldn’t do much until Chen actually committed a crime. Watching from the woods wasn’t illegal. Not yet.

But I knew he wouldn’t just watch forever.

Sorenson’s orders would have been clear.

Make them suffer. Make it slow. Make it painful.

And then kill them.

We set up our trap.

The plan was simple.

I would make it look like I was leaving for the base. Pack a bag. Drive away in my uniform. My mother would be visible in the kitchen, alone.

Chen would see his opportunity.

And when he made his move, we would be waiting.

The morning of the operation, I hugged my mother goodbye.

“Are you sure about this?” I asked.

She nodded, her face determined.

“I’m not hiding anymore, Ryan. If this is what it takes to end it, I’m ready.”

I kissed her forehead.

“Stay where we talked about. And don’t come out until Marcus gives the all-clear.”

I got in my car and drove away.

I made sure I was visible from the woods. Made sure Chen saw me leave.

Five miles down the road, I turned off the highway and parked in a secluded spot. Marcus picked me up in an unmarked van.

We drove back to the house and took up positions.

I was in the attic, with a clear view of the backyard and the woods.

Marcus and his men were inside the house, hidden in closets and behind furniture.

We waited.

The hours crawled by.

At 2 p.m., I saw movement in the trees.

Chen.

He was moving slowly, carefully, using every bit of cover. He circled the house twice, checking for signs of ambush.

He was thorough.

Professional.

But he didn’t know we were waiting.

He approached the back door. Took something from his pocket. A tool to pick the lock.

The door clicked open.

He stepped inside.

I spoke into my radio.

“He’s in.”

“Hold your positions,” Marcus said. “Let him get deeper.”

I watched through the attic floorboards as Chen moved through the house. His gun was raised, his movements silent and precise.

He cleared the living room. The dining room. The kitchen.

My mother wasn’t there.

She was in the safe room we had built in the basement. Steel door. Its own ventilation system. Bulletproof glass.

Chen would never get to her.

But he didn’t know that.

He started searching the bedrooms. Opening closets. Checking under beds.

Growing frustrated.

Then he started talking to himself.

“Where are you?” he whispered. “The soldier boy left you alone. I know you’re here somewhere.”

He moved toward the basement door.

“Now,” Marcus said.

The lights came on.

Chen spun around, his gun raised.

Marcus and his men were standing in the hallway, their weapons trained on him.

“David Chen,” Marcus said. “FBI. Drop your weapon.”

Chen hesitated.

Then he smiled.

“You think this is over?” he asked. “Sorenson said this would happen. He said you would try to trap me.”

He reached into his vest.

“He also said to leave a present.”

Marcus’s eyes widened.

“Grenade!”

Chen pulled the pin and threw it.

Time slowed down.

The grenade bounced down the hallway.

I acted on instinct.

I jumped from the attic, crashing through the ceiling tiles, landing hard on the floor.

I grabbed the grenade and threw it back toward Chen.

It exploded.

The force of the blast threw me backward.

My ears were ringing. My vision was blurry.

When I could see again, the hallway was filled with smoke.

Chen was down. The explosion had caught him before he could escape.

Marcus was helping his men to their feet. No one else had been hurt.

I sat up, my head throbbing.

“Is everyone okay?” I asked.

Marcus nodded.

“We’re fine. Thanks to you.”

Chen was still alive, but barely. The paramedics took him away in critical condition.

The FBI searched his body and his car.

They found detailed plans of the house. Notes about our routines. A hit list with my mother’s name, my father’s name, and my name on it.

And a phone.

A burner phone with one number in it.

A number that traced back to a lawyer in the city.

A lawyer who visited Viktor Sorenson in prison every week.

Sorenson had ordered the hit.

From inside his maximum-security cell.

The FBI pressed charges. Sorenson was moved to solitary confinement. His privileges were revoked. His contact with the outside world was cut off almost completely.

But the message was clear.

Even from behind bars, he could reach us.

We couldn’t live like this.

Always looking over our shoulders. Always waiting for the next attack.

My mother and I talked about it for hours.

“Maybe we should sell the house,” she said one night. “Move somewhere else. Start over.”

But I knew running wouldn’t solve anything.

Sorenson had resources. He would find us. No matter where we went.

We had to finish this.

Permanently.

I called Marcus.

“I need to get to Sorenson,” I said.

“Ryan, no. He’s in a maximum-security prison. You can’t just walk in there.”

“I don’t plan to walk in,” I said. “I plan to make him come to me.”

I had a plan.

A dangerous plan.

But it was the only way to make sure Sorenson could never hurt us again.

I would use myself as bait.

I would leak information that I was being transferred to a base overseas. That I would be flying out of the city’s international airport on a certain day, at a certain time.

Sorenson wouldn’t pass up the opportunity.