HEAD TO CHAPTER TWO TO UNCOVER THE ENTIRE STORY.

-9-

The federal holding facility on the south side of Chicago looked like a concrete monolith under the shroud of a moonless midnight sky. High-intensity halogen floodlights swept the perimeter fences, casting harsh, blinding beams across the razor wire, while private security patrols in unmarked tactical vehicles circled the complex every ten minutes.

Inside a specialized mobile command van parked two blocks away in an abandoned industrial rail yard, our war room was operating at maximum capacity.

Tommy had tied his laptop directly into the city’s traffic light control grid, creating a synchronized green-wave corridor that would allow our transport vehicles to slip past the precinct cameras without triggering automated amber alerts. Julian and Marcus were inspecting their tactical gear, snapping heavy-duty carbon-fiber zip-ties and checking the suppressors on their sidearms, while Vincent reviewed the architectural blueprint of the prison’s medical quarantine wing spread across the fold-down table.

I sat in the corner of the van, wearing my red hoodie, carefully organizing a stack of digital override keys on a backup tablet.

"Remember," Marcus instructed, pointing to a highlighted section of the blueprint on the table. "Sub-Level 3 is managed by private medical contractors hired by Apex Global—not regular federal guards. They operate outside standard chain-of-command protocols, which means they won't hesitate to use lethal force if they think their clandestine operations are being compromised. We move fast, we move quiet, and we secure David before they can initiate a medical transfer."

Mom stood near the back doors of the van, her arms crossed tightly over her emerald sweater, watching the glowing red coordinates on the primary monitor. Her face was a mask of intense, focused anxiety. For twenty-five years, she had believed her older brother was dead, murdered by the very machine that had stolen her own identity. Now, he was sitting three hundred yards away, breathing in a concrete cage, waiting for his family to bring him back into the light.

"We're ready," Vincent said, sliding his sidearm into his shoulder holster and pulling on his dark tactical jacket. He looked over at Mom, his eyes softening. "El, stay inside the van with Tommy and Rory. Once we secure David from the medical wing, we extract him straight to the chopper on the roof. We don't want you exposed to the crossfire if the private contractors decide to play hero."

"No, Vincent," Mom said, her voice dropping into a register of absolute, unyielding authority that brooked zero argument. "I've spent twenty-two years hiding in the shadows while my family was hunted and erased. If my brother is walking out of that hellhole tonight, I am going to be the first face he sees when he steps into the light."

Vincent stared at her for a fraction of a second, recognizing the exact same unbreakable Kane stubbornness that pulsed through his own veins. He let out a soft, defeated sigh and nodded.

"Fine," Vincent said. "You stay right behind me. Julian, you cover the rear stairwell. Marcus and I will breach the quarantine wing."

The back doors of the van clicked open as Marcus checked his watch. "Midnight. Showtime."

We stepped out into the freezing night air, the bitter wind howling off Lake Michigan as we crossed the abandoned railway tracks toward the rear service entrance of the federal holding facility. The shadows swallowed us whole as we slipped past the outer perimeter fence—using the blind spots Tommy’s hacked security grid had meticulously mapped out for us.

The service door of the facility loomed ahead, heavy steel and deadbolted from the inside.

Julian stepped up to the keypad, sliding a portable override device into the maintenance port. A soft, green light blinked twice.