The atmospheric weight surrounding the Enigma surged like a localized gravitational collapse. The faint, pleasant mountain breeze sweeping across the asphalt of the service station suddenly felt bone-chillingly cold.
"Hand over the younger Ford brother immediately," Dahmer commanded, his voice dropping into a low, terrifyingly smooth cadence. "That is not a request, Beron. It is the single remaining condition if you wish to survive this afternoon."
Beron stood paralyzed on the oil-stained concrete.
The threat echoed in his ears, but it wasn't just the danger of Dahmer's presence that froze the blood in his veins—it was a sudden, sickening realization that bloomed like poison in his gut. The puzzle pieces of the last twelve hours smashed together in his mind.
Malcolm's line was called... a scrambled voice demanded an immediate abortion... using Holino's life as the leverage...
A sudden, suffocating wave of dread hit Beron's chest. Mother.
