At the place where three countries' borders intersected, Marx slammed his boot into the rusted door of an abandoned facility. The door groaned open, echoing through the hollow corridors. His chest tightened with frustration.
He had rushed here alone, leaving his security detail behind, desperate to arrive first—but he was still too late. Amaya was gone. Not a trace remained. The rooms looked scrubbed clean, as though no one had ever been here at all.
He used his most advanced scanner but failed to detect any abnormality in the place. With gloom heavy on his face, Marx stepped out of the underground compound. His wristwatch beeped.
"Uncle Marx, you're late," came Ren's young but weary voice.
Marx exhaled sharply. "Can you trace her? I've checked Athena, but the system is spitting out conflicting coordinates. It's maddening."
