Sentinel

The thing about breaking in was that it wasn't really about the physical act at all. Polly knew this as she stood in the rain at 3 AM, water streaming down her face, staring up at Professor Yip's building. Breaking in was about understanding systems. It was about seeing the gaps between what should be secure and what actually was secure. Most people thought buildings were fortresses. Polly knew better. Buildings were more like wooden fences - full of knots that could be pushed out to make holes.

She pulled her hood tighter and walked toward the service entrance. The security camera above the door swiveled slowly, covering a 180-degree arc. Polly counted under her breath. Eight seconds left to right, pause for two, eight seconds right to left. The key was timing, but also positioning. Most people didn't realize that these cameras had a blind spot directly beneath them. You just had to know how to use it.

The lock was a standard Schlage, probably from the 80s. A lot of buildings still used them because they were reliable. The thing about old locks was that they developed wear patterns. Polly pulled out her picks - she preferred Peterson's in 0.018 thickness. The thinner picks gave better feedback. She felt each pin, sensing how much tension to apply. Too much pressure and the pins would bind. Not enough and they'd drop.

Rain dripped down her neck as she worked. Lightning flashed, and she counted until the thunder - three seconds. The storm was getting closer. She needed to hurry.

The first three pins set easily. The fourth was sticky, probably had some grit in it. She raked it gently, feeling for the sweet spot. Not many people knew that you could often set multiple pins at once with the right technique. It was all about understanding the tolerances.

The door clicked open. Polly slipped inside, careful to let it close silently behind her. The service hallway smelled like cleaning supplies and old mop water. Motion sensors lined the ceiling - newer models, infrared. But they had a flaw. If you moved slowly enough, the gradual temperature change wouldn't trigger them. It was like being a ghost, Polly thought. You had to fade into the background noise.

She took off her wet jacket and wrung it out. Water on the floor would leave evidence. The thing about evidence was that people usually looked for it in the wrong places. They checked for fingerprints, for forced entries. They rarely noticed the little things - water drops, scuff marks, displaced dust.

The stairs were on her left. She needed the fourth floor, but the stairwell had its own challenges. Sound carried in stairwells. Every footstep could echo. The trick was to walk on the edges of the steps, near the wall where the concrete was most solid. That's where you got the least resonance.

Polly touched the railing, feeling the slight tackiness of cheap paint. She'd need to wipe it down before she left. The best entry left no trace at all. Like picking a lock - if you did it right, even the lock wouldn't know it had been picked.

She reached the fourth floor landing and paused. From here, it would get more complicated. But that was okay. Polly had learned long ago that complicated didn't mean impossible. It just meant you had to break the problem down into smaller pieces. Like a puzzle, except the pieces were moments of vulnerability in an otherwise secure system.

Polly pulled out her phone and checked the time. She had exactly seventeen minutes before the next security patrol. More than enough time, if everything went according to plan. And in her experience, things usually did go according to plan. You just had to make sure your plan accounted for everything.

A low growl stopped her cold. Polly turned, moving only her head, and saw the dog standing in Professor Yip's doorway. A Lhasa Apso. About fifteen pounds of ancient Tibetan engineering, bred specifically to notice intruders and make a lot of noise about it. The apartment door was cracked open, and the dog stood guard, head low, dark eyes fixed on her. Its long coat nearly touched the floor.

This wasn't in any of her research. Professor Yip didn't own a dog. She'd been watching the apartment for two weeks and had never seen a dog. But here it was, guarding the very door she needed to enter, and she knew exactly how bad this could get. Lhasa Apsos were like living security systems - that's what they were originally bred for. Temple sentinels. And this one was about three seconds away from doing its job.

The trick with alert dogs was to control their anxiety. Most people thought you should try to be friendly, but that was exactly wrong. Polly kept her eyes slightly averted and lowered herself to a crouch. She pulled a treat from her pocket - she always carried them, part of her standard kit. Not many people knew that the best treat for calming a dog wasn't beef or chicken. It was plain, unseasoned turkey. Something about the L-tryptophan.

The Lhasa's nose twitched. That was good. A dog that was smelling wasn't barking. She placed the treat on the floor and slid it forward with one finger. The dog took a step closer, still growling but softer now. The key was to stay perfectly still. Even a small movement could trigger their prey drive.

Polly counted her breaths. One. Two. Three. The dog sniffed the treat. Four. Five. It took the turkey in its mouth, still watching her. Six. Seven. Eight. The growling stopped.

She reached into her pocket again, deliberately slow. The second treat was important - it created a pattern, gave the dog something to focus on besides alerting. But as she moved, thunder cracked outside. The dog's head snapped up, ears forward. Polly saw its chest expand, knew what was coming. In about half a second, that bark was going to echo through the entire building.

There was a technique for stopping dogs from barking. You had to time it perfectly - the exact moment they opened their mouth, before they pushed air through their vocal cords. Polly lunged forward, one hand gently cradling the dog's muzzle, the other scratching behind its ears. The combination of gentle pressure and pleasure signals confused most dogs long enough to break their bark reflex.

The Lhasa Apso blinked at her. Its tail wagged once, uncertainly. Polly kept scratching, maintained the gentle hold. After thirty seconds, she felt the tension leave the dog's body. After a minute, it leaned against her leg.

She needed to figure out where this dog came from and, more importantly, where its owner was. But right now, she had a new problem. She couldn't leave the dog here - it might change its mind about her once she moved toward the professor's door. And she couldn't let it follow her. Either way, her carefully timed plan was now officially in trouble.

The door was already cracked open - not good. Not part of the plan at all. But with the dog now calmly watching her with newfound trust, she had no choice but to push forward. She eased the door open wider, careful not to let it creak.

The apartment smelled like green tea and old books. Polly closed the door behind her, letting the dog follow. No choice now. Her boots squeaked on the hardwood - too loud. She toed them off, leaving wet sock prints that would evaporate in minutes. Thunder cracked outside, and blue lightning strobed through the windows, turning everything to stark shadow for a fraction of a second. She pulled out her penlight - the kind with a red filter. Red light carried less far, didn't destroy your night vision.

Rain hammered against the windows as she moved through the space. The living room looked exactly like she expected from her surveillance. Desk by the window. Bookshelf along the wall. Filing cabinet in the corner. Water dripped steadily from her clothes, and she shivered - the apartment's air conditioning was cranked too high. Not good. Cold muscles were slow muscles.

But it wasn't there.

She checked the desk first. Most people didn't know how to properly search a desk. You had to work in a spiral pattern, starting from the center. Check under things, inside things, behind things. Nothing. The filing cabinet was next. Each drawer had to be opened carefully - the sound of metal on metal could travel through walls. Still nothing.

A soft scraping sound came from somewhere in the apartment. Polly froze. The dog's ears perked up, but it didn't growl. That was bad. If the dog knew the sound and wasn't alarmed, it meant...

The bedroom door was closed. It hadn't been closed in any of her observations. She'd watched through the window for fourteen nights, and that door was always open. Always.

Another scrape. Definitely from the bedroom. The dog padded toward the door, tail wagging. Polly's heart hammered against her ribs. She needed to leave. Right now. But she couldn't go without it. She just couldn't.

The red beam of her penlight caught something on the bedroom door. A scratch in the paint, fresh enough that tiny curls of white still clung to the groove. The kind of scratch that might be made by someone being dragged. Someone who was trying to hold onto the doorframe.

The scraping sound came again. And then a thud. Outside, the storm surged - wind howled through the building's metal gutters, making them keen like wounded animals. And then came something that might have been a laugh, or might have been something else entirely.

The dog sat down by the bedroom door, looking up at her expectantly. Waiting. Like it had done this before.

That's when Polly noticed the other scratches. Dozens of them. Some old, some new. All at about the height where someone's fingers would catch if they were being pulled backward through the doorway.

The door began to open.