The storm outside had faded to a steady drizzle, but inside the safehouse, tension hung heavier than any thundercloud. Justina sat cross-legged on the floor, fingers tracing the edges of a tablet Ezra had handed her earlier. The screen flickered with lines of code, encrypted messages, and coordinates that seemed to pulse with menace. Each flicker felt like a countdown, each number a shadow of the inevitable confrontation waiting for them.

Carson sat across from her, elbows on his knees, eyes ...