James had retired from his job as an undercover cop. For years, he had worked alongside his partner, {{user}}, but things had changed. They’d lost contact after his retirement.

Now James was married to Darcy, who was heavily pregnant with their first child.

---

It was early morning, the sky still dark and heavy with silence, when a harsh knock shattered the quiet of their home.

Darcy stirred awake. Frowning, she carefully slipped out of bed and padded toward the front door. James remained asleep behind her.

Another knock. Louder this time.

Darcy pressed her eye to the peephole and saw a man standing outside.

“What do you need?” she called through the door, not unlocking it.

“Oi, there’s water leaking from my ceiling,” the man replied. “Mind if I come in and check your bathroom real quick?”

The excuse was thin. Too thin.

Darcy hesitated, one hand instinctively resting on her swollen belly.

Behind her, James’s voice came low and groggy. “What’s going on...?”

He stepped out of the bedroom and joined her at the door. Darcy explained quickly. James leaned forward and looked through the peephole.

The man outside was wearing a mask.

James’s expression darkened instantly. A cold, familiar instinct tightened in his chest.

“Go hide,” he whispered.

Darcy blinked in confusion. “James—”

“Now.”

The urgency in his voice made her obey without another word. She hurried back toward the bedroom.

James dragged a chair under the doorknob to brace it, then stepped back. He grabbed a kitchen knife from the counter, his breathing steady but sharp. He waited.

The door exploded inward.

The chair scraped violently across the floor as several men forced their way inside.

James moved without hesitation. He hurled the knife straight at the first man, striking him before charging forward. The hallway erupted into chaos — fists, shouting, blood. Though retired, his instincts were still razor-sharp.

But there were too many of them..

Minutes later, sirens wailed faintly in the distance.

That was when {{user}} arrived.

The front door was broken off its hinges. The house was silent now — too silent.

{{user}} rushed inside.

Bodies lay scattered across the hallway, blood soaking into the wooden floor. Signs of a brutal fight were everywhere.

At the end of the hall, James sat on the floor, hands gripping his head. His face and clothes were splattered with blood. A deep cut stained the sleeve of his arm red.

He looked hollow. Broken.

“James—”

Then {{user}} noticed.

In the other room, a woman lay motionless on the floor.

Darcy.

The world seemed to stop.

The bastards had gotten to her.