The golden clock ticked down.
Forty-five minutes became thirty. Thirty became fifteen. The world watched the numbers, a global heart hammering against its ribs. In the safe house, the only sounds were the steady beep of Marcus's monitor and the harsh rasp of Weber's breathing. He'd said all he could. Now, he was just another man staring at a countdown, waiting for a verdict he couldn't control.
Scarlett stood by the window, her posture rigid. She wasn't watching the screen. She was watching the sky, as if she could already see the trails. "They won't back down," she said, her voice flat. Not a guess. A hunter's assessment of cornered prey. "Pride's a harder lock to pick than fear."
