The warehouse where my mother "died" stood empty at eleven fifty-five AM.
We arrived early—me, Albert, Rebecca, Victoria, and twenty heavily armed bikers positioned in a perimeter outside. If X wanted a face-to-face meeting, he was getting an army.
"This feels wrong," Albert said, scanning the space with thermal imaging. "No heat signatures. No electronic signals. Nothing."
"X said noon. We have five minutes." I checked my weapons for the tenth time. Guns, knives, the remaining EMP devices Rebecca had brought. "He will show."
"Or he won't," Rebecca said quietly. "Because this is another layer. Another distraction."
Before I could respond, the warehouse lights blazed on. Blinding. Disorienting.
When my vision cleared, a figure stood in the center of the space. But not X. Not anyone we
