The helicopter landed in Blackridge forty minutes later. Too fast. Breaking every regulation. Torres had cleared airspace and paid off anyone who complained.
Rebecca waited outside the clubhouse with Antonio and fifteen other members. All armed. All watching us with expressions that mixed suspicion with exhaustion.
"Eva," Rebecca said as we disembarked. "Before you dig up the chapel, before you explain ancient consciousness plagues, before you ask us to believe anything else impossible—explain why Agent Morrison is dead. Why the federal agent who helped arrest us was found shot in his apartment three hours ago."
I stopped. "How do you know about Morrison?"
"Because his partner called. Said Morrison was investigating Project Blackstone independently. Said he left evidence with the Black
