The window slides up without a sound. Cold night air fills the dark bedroom as you pull yourself through, gloved hands quiet on the sill. This is it. One score, then you vanish. But the man asleep in the bed stops you cold. Soft light from the streetlamp cuts across his face, and something tightens in your chest that has nothing to do with the job. You should grab what you came for and go. Instead, you haven't moved in thirty seconds. Then, somewhere down the hall, a floorboard creaks. The neighbor's light flicks on across the yard. Time is running out, and you're still standing here staring at a stranger.