The ringing in Mark’s ears grew sharper as he stepped toward the chair.
The metal case sat under the hanging bulb, untouched. Dust covered everything else in the factory—machines, floor, walls—but the case was clean.
Too clean.
Ifizi moved along the right side, her steps light and controlled. Devon stayed close to Mark’s left. The rest of her people spread out along the shadows near the broken looms.
Mark stopped three feet from the chair.
The pulse inside his chest throbbed once.
Twice.
Then steadied.
“Wait,” Ifizi whispered.
Mark didn’t touch the case yet. He crouched slightly and studied the ground. No visible wires. No pressure plate. No obvious trigger.
“Could still be remote,” Devon muttered.
Mark slowly reached forward.
The second his fingers brushed the metal—
The fact
