The sharp sound of glass breaking was still hanging in the air, vibrating through the bones in my jaw as I met Grant's eyes.
I tried the handle.
Locked.
I pulled it once more, harder, and the door rattled on its hinges, but it didn't budge. Behind it, the house was silent, save for the faint echoes of a woman screaming.
My heart rate ticked upward.
"Grant," I muttered.
"Do it," he said, stepping back, hand hovering near his service weapon.
I took a step back, braced my heel, and kicked.
The door splintered near the lock, the wood cracking with a sharp report as it swung inward, slamming against the wall. The scent of dust and something metallic—blood—immediately hit my nose.
I drew in a breath, my senses sharpening as Observation activated without a conscious command.
