They'd been walking for three hours when the rain started. Not a gentle drizzle but a cold, punishing downpour that soaked through their clothes in minutes and turned the forest floor into slick mud.Sarah pulled her jacket tighter, knowing it was useless. The fabric was already saturated, water running down her neck in icy rivulets. Beside her, Marcus moved with mechanical determination, favoring his injured ribs, his face drawn with pain and exhaustion.Behind them, the others struggled. Whitmore was barely upright, fever making his steps unsteady. Park moved in silence, still shaken from her activation. Sergeant Torres supported Whitmore on one side, Ellis on the other. Agent Torres brought up the rear, weapon drawn, constantly checking their backs.Five miles to the highway maintenance depot. Five miles through rain and mud and the constant fear of pursuit."We need to stop," Ellis called over the rain. "Whitmore's going to collapse.""We stop, we're sitting targets," Marcus calle

The stolen maintenance truck handled like a tank. Sarah gripped the wheel, taking another turn too fast, the vehicle's back end fishtailing on wet asphalt. In the passenger seat, Park braced herself against the dashboard, face pale but focused."How many are following?" Sarah asked.Park checked the side mirror. "Three cruisers. Maybe four. They're staying back, probably calling for backup.""Good. The more they commit to following us, the less attention on Marcus and Torres." Sarah checked the GPS on the truck's dashboard. They were twenty miles outside Milwaukee, heading northwest; a completely wrong direction from Chicago, but that was the point.Lead Devereaux's forces away. Give Marcus time to escape. Regroup at Willis Tower tomorrow midnight.Simple plan. Except nothing about this was simple anymore."They're closing in," Park said. "Sarah, we can't outrun them forever. This truck isn't built for speed.""Don't need to outrun them. Just need to stay ahead until dark." Sarah glan

3:31 AM. Sarah stared at the atlas until the lines blurred. Street names stopped making sense. Just shapes on paper. Her eyes were burning, that gritty feeling that came from too many hours awake and too much strain. She closed the atlas. Rubbed her face with both hands. Felt the dirt and sweat and exhaustion ground into her skin. When was the last time she'd showered? Really showered, not just splashed water on her face in a gas station bathroom? Three days ago? Four? Time had become elastic. Stretching and compressing in ways that didn't make sense. Some moments lasted forever; like now, sitting in this booth, waiting. Other moments flashed by in a blur of violence and fear. Sarah looked at her hands. They were shaking. Just slightly. The kind of tremor that came from too much adrenaline over too many days. Combat fatigue, they'd called it in the service. When your body had been in fight-or-flight mode so long it forgot how to be normal. She pressed her palms flat again

6:31 AM.The sunrise was in full effect now. Gold light streaming through the windows, cutting across the diner in bright slashes. Sarah had to squint against it. Her eyes, already strained from lack of sleep, protested the sudden brightness.She shifted in the booth, angling herself so the light wasn't directly in her face. Her body complained at the movement. Every muscle stiff. Her lower back a knot of pain from sitting too long in one position.Sarah stretched as much as she could without drawing attention. Rolled her shoulders. Flexed her fingers. Tried to work some circulation back into her limbs.She'd been sitting here for over four hours now. Four hours of waiting. Four hours of watching the clock tick forward with agonizing slowness.One hour and twenty-nine minutes left.6:38 AM.The breakfast crowd was thinning out. People getting their food to go. Heading off to jobs and obligations. The family with the two kids left, the children still chattering excitedly about somethin

Marcus had been awake for thirty-six hours straight.He knew this because he'd been counting. Marking time by the position of the sun. By the ache in his muscles. By the way Torres kept nodding off in the passenger seat, then jerking awake with a start.They'd stolen the car six hours ago. A Honda Civic. Gray. Forgettable. Parked behind a convenience store with the keys under the floor mat; either incredible luck or incredible stupidity on the owner's part.Marcus wasn't complaining either way.He kept the speed exactly at the limit. Five miles over would get them pulled over. Five miles under would draw attention. Exactly at the limit meant they were invisible. Just another car on the highway.Interstate 94. Heading southeast toward Chicago. About forty miles out now. Maybe an hour if traffic stayed light.Torres stirred in the passenger seat. Blinked. Looked around like he'd forgotten where they were."We close?" His voice was rough with sleep."About an hour.""Jesus. I was out.""