The ticking wasn’t loud, but Dean could feel it in his chest like a second heartbeat. Every second that passed pressed harder against his ribs, against his mind, against the thin line between control and collapse. He knelt in front of the chair, eyes locked on the wire system, ignoring everything else—the pain in his side, the distant sounds of boots retreating, the faint echoes of gunfire dying out beyond the warehouse walls. Nothing mattered except the mechanism in front of him. It wasn’t just a simple trigger. It was layered. That was the first thing he noticed. Whoever set it up didn’t rely on one fail-safe—they built several. The thin wire connected to a pressure base beneath the chair, but there was also a secondary relay running along the back support, hidden so well it almost blended into the metal frame. Cutting the wrong line wouldn’t just trigger one charge. It would trigger everything. Dean exhaled slowly, steadying his hand as he leaned closer, his fingers hovering just a

The car engine died, but the tension didn’t. It stayed in the air, thick and unmoving, like the world itself was holding its breath. Dean stepped out first, his boots crunching lightly against the gravel as his eyes swept across the structure in front of them. It didn’t look like much at first glance—just a low building tucked behind a wall of trees, lights dim, almost lifeless—but that was exactly what made it dangerous. Places like this weren’t built to be seen. They were built to disappear. “This is your ‘safe point’?” Dean asked without looking back, his voice calm but edged with doubt. The other figure stepped out of the driver’s side, closing the door quietly before moving around the car. “You’re still breathing, aren’t you?” they replied simply. “That’s usually a good sign.” Dean didn’t respond to that. His attention had already shifted to the perimeter. Subtle details. A camera tucked high in the corner, almost invisible unless you knew where to look. A faint hum near the wall

Chapter 114: Breaking the PatternThe countdown didn’t just sit on the screen—it pressed into the room like a weight, every second falling heavier than the last. Fifteen minutes had already become fourteen, then thirteen, the numbers shifting with quiet indifference as if they didn’t understand what they meant. But Dean understood. He stood still for only a moment longer, eyes locked on the screen, then he moved, fast and certain, like hesitation had been cut out of him completely. “Talk to me,” he said sharply, his gaze snapping to the tall man at the console. “Anything. Signal behavior, distortion pattern, lag—whatever you’ve got.” The tall man’s fingers flew across the controls, his expression tightening. “It’s not a fixed stream,” he said quickly. “It’s bouncing. Multiple relay points. Whoever’s sending this is constantly shifting the source.” “So pin the pattern,” Dean replied without missing a beat. “There’s always a rhythm. Even chaos has one.” The figure watched him closely, s

The hum beneath the floor grew louder, deeper, like the building itself was reacting to every breath, every movement, every decision being made inside it. The countdown dropped again—two minutes and thirty seconds—and the numbers no longer felt like time. They felt like pressure. Crushing, constant pressure. Dean didn’t look at the clock anymore. He didn’t need to. He could feel it. In the way the air tightened. In the way every second seemed sharper than the last. In the way his own heartbeat refused to slow down. He stayed crouched beside the hostage he had just stabilized, but his focus had already shifted elsewhere. Not to the next person. Not to the figure working beside him. But to the system. To the hidden core he had just noticed. His eyes narrowed slightly, tracking it again through the harsh light—the faint wiring running beneath the broken panels, the subtle alignment of the plates, the unnatural symmetry in what was supposed to look like chaos. “You see it too, don’t you?”

For a few seconds, no one moved. Not Dean. Not the figure beside him. Not even the hostages scattered across the floor. It was like the entire building had forgotten how to breathe. The hum was gone. The countdown had hit zero—and nothing followed. No collapse. No explosion. Just silence. Heavy, deep, and almost unreal. Dean stood still, his chest rising slowly as he listened. Not for noise—but for change. Because with Jonathan, silence was never empty. It always meant something. “Is it… over?” one of the hostages whispered weakly, their voice trembling as they struggled to lift their head. Dean’s eyes dropped to them, his expression steady but not soft. “No,” he said quietly. “But you’re still alive.” That mattered. Right now, that was everything. The figure beside him let out a slow breath, their shoulders relaxing just slightly as they looked around. “The plates are inactive,” they said. “No feedback. No response.” Dean nodded once. “The system’s dead.” A pause. “…For now.” The wor