I gripped the phone tighter. “Who told them?”

“I did,” Sterling said. “But they need your physical data to prove the timeline was altered.”

“I am leaving now,” I said.

I hung up the phone and slipped it into my pocket.

I looked back down at the street.

The passenger door of the black sedan opened.

A man in a dark trench coat stepped out, holding a large black umbrella.

I did not wait to see his face.

I grabbed my old laptop bag from the closet and slipped out of the apartment.

I ran down the back fire escape, my boots slipping on the wet metal steps.

The rain stung my cheeks and blurred my vision.

I reached the bottom of the stairs and vaulted over the low chain-link fence into the alley.

My car was two blocks away, parked under a dead streetlamp.

I ran through the puddles, my lungs burning in the cold air.

Behind me, I heard the heavy thud of a metal door swinging shut.

I did not look back.

I reached my car, unlocked it, and threw myself into the driver’s seat.