The note fluttered from Lucien’s hand.
You have seventy-two hours left.
No signature.
No explanation.
Just a countdown.
My stomach twisted.
“Seventy-two hours until what?”
No one answered.
Because no one knew.
⸻
Damien immediately examined the dart.
“It’s custom-made.”
Agent Isabelle frowned.
“Can you trace it?”
He shook his head.
“No serial number.”
“No manufacturer.”
“It was designed to disappear.”
He snapped the metal shaft in half.
Inside…
A tiny memory chip slid onto Lucien’s desk.
The room fell silent.
“They wanted us to find this.”
Lucien said quietly.
⸻
Within minutes, the chip was connected to a laptop.
The screen remained black.
Then…
A familiar voice spoke.
“Good.”
Gabriel Ashcroft.
“If you’re watching this…”
“…it means I underestimated Damien.”
