I reached the truck, pulled the driver’s side door open, and climbed inside.

The smell of old vinyl and wet dog filled the cabin.

I turned the key in the ignition.

The engine sputtered, caught, and rumbled to life.

I pulled the dash-mounted GPS unit from my pocket and plugged it into the auxiliary port.

The screen flickered, displaying the encrypted map Raymond had left in his old desk.

A single red icon blinked sixty miles to the south, just across the Virginia border.

The location was marked as an agricultural research station.

I knew better.

It was Voss’s primary testing facility.

I shifted the truck into drive and hit the gas.

Gravel sprayed against the wheel wells as I cleared the estate gates.

The highway was nearly empty at three in the morning.

The windshield wipers swept left and right, leaving smeared tracks across the glass.

My hands were shaking on the steering wheel.

I gripped the leather tighter to stop the trembling.

I looked at my reflection in the rearview mirror.

The blood on my cheek from the crawlspace had dried into a dark crust.