“I still have the original blueprints, Arthur,” my dad said, his eyes burning into his former colleague’s soul. “The ones with your digital signature on the stress load modifications.”
Dr. Vance froze, his calculated smirk vanishing instantly, replaced by a sudden, desperate panic. But before he could speak, the heavy double doors at the back of the auditorium slammed open.
Three men in dark, indistinguishable suits stepped into the room, their eyes instantly locking onto our group. One of them raised a radio to his collar.
“Target identified in Sector 4,” the man said loudly, his voice echoing through the empty hall. “We have visual on Julian.”
My dad didn’t look surprised. He turned to me, his hands gripping my shoulders one last time. “Run, Leo. Take your mother and the flash drive. Go to the F-150.”
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