Nate tore through the lab like a storm. Wires, panels, drawers—he checked every crevice.
His fingers finally stopped under Jack's desk. A small, circular object tucked beneath a metal support beam. Black. Matte. Silent.
A mic.
Nate's jaw tightened.
Without a word, he closed his fist around it and crushed it. The metal groaned under his strength before snapping apart like paper, the small device crackling as sparks burst from its shattered core.
They had been listening the whole time.
Everything they said, every plan they made—they heard it all.
Which meant…
Jack… Madison… Bella…
They could be anywhere.
Anywhere in the world.
Nate slowly lowered his hand, his fingers still trembling slightly. Not from fear—but from the storm building inside him.
He had nothing to work with. No clues. No trail. And worst of all—no time.
What if they were already dead?
And he wouldn't even know.
He stared blankly at the crushed remains in his palm.
