Henry swallowed hard, tension tightening his chest. He debated his next move—chase immediately or wait for backup. Training and instinct warred with impatience. The figure had already slipped out of sight, and any hasty action could alert them.
He inched closer to the gate, crouching low behind the shadows of the low wall that ran along the property line. Every creak of the metal fence sounded deafening in the night. He scanned the perimeter, flashlight off to avoid drawing attention, eyes darting to corners where a shadow might move.
A soft scuffle echoed from the far side of the building, near the loading dock. Henry’s breath caught. He knew the valuables were stored there overnight, the heavy cases of antiques locked behind reinforced doors. Whoever had climbed the gate clearly knew what they were after.
He edged forward, silent but deliberate, hand brushing against the gate as if to steady himself. His mind ran through scenarios—what if there were more than one intruder? What if they had weapons? The thrill of guarding the auction house had never been this intense, never so alive with risk.
Then, a faint click—the unmistakable sound of a lock being tampered with. Henry froze, every nerve alert. He crouched lower, fingers inching toward the silent alarm button on his belt. One press and the authorities would be on their way, but he also knew he might have just seconds to act if the intruders discovered him first.
Henry’s eyes narrowed, mind sharp, as he decided: tonight, he wouldn’t just wait. He would confront them—but carefully, with patience and precision. The night was far from over, and the auction house depended on him.