A faint metallic tinkling drifted through the chaos—too deliberate and too rhythmic to be falling debris. It wasn't random. The sound slid under my skin, raising every hair on my arms.
Michael's head snapped toward it, weapon ready, but there was nothing to target, only smoke and shadows dancing to Elliot's choreography.
The chime-like sound grew louder, sharp and mechanical, threading through the thickening smoke like a warning bell. It had a rhythm—deliberate, mocking. Michael tensed, his eyes narrowing as he swept the area with sharp, calculated movements.
Then, it stopped. Abruptly.
A beat of silence.
And then Marcus stiffened beside me, his entire body going rigid. His eyes widened, not with fear—but recognition.
"James," he rasped, his voice brittle. "My timing chip. It's not mine."
My heart lurched. Before I could process his words, a shrill beeping pierced the noise—rapid, escalating.
I looked down.
Strapped to Marcus's ankle, beneath layers of sweat and grime, the small black device blinked red. It wasn't the steady, reassuring pulse of a race tracker.
A countdown.
"MOVE!" Michael roared, his hand shoving us with a force born from pure survival instinct.
We hit the ground hard, the breath punched from my lungs as I scrambled to rip the device from Marcus's ankle. The clasp wouldn't budge. My fingers slipped, slick with sweat and ash.
Ten seconds.
Nine.
Marcus gritted his teeth, grabbing my hands. "James, stop."
"No," I gasped, fighting tears and panic. "I'm not—"
Eight.
Seven.
Michael was beside us, his gun forgotten as he yanked a knife from his belt. One brutal slice through the strap.
Six.
He snatched the device, hurling it with all his strength into the flaming wreckage of the gear racks.
Five.
The world paused—one breath, suspended between panicked heartbeats.
Four.
Michael's knife clattered to the ground, his hand still outstretched from the throw. His chest heaved once, sharp and uneven like he'd forgotten how to breathe.
Then his hand shot out, gripping my shoulder—hard, fingers digging in like he wasn't sure whether he was anchoring me or himself.
"Can't lose you," he muttered, so low I almost didn't hear it over the roar building around us.
A blinding flash erupted from the wreckage, white-hot and searing, followed by a concussive blast that rolled over us like a physical wave. My ears screamed with the force of it, the ground shuddering beneath me.
Silence. For one terrifying moment, absolute silence.
