Uniformed soldiers swarmed, rifles glinting, while a black van idled nearby, its engine a low growl.
“Elena, get in,” a voice called, familiar yet distant.
I turned to see my brother, Marco, his eyes sharp behind the badge of a former intelligence officer.
“You disappeared after the… operation,” he said, his tone a mixture of accusation and relief.
“What is this? Why the baby?” my mind screamed, the image of the infant still vivid.
Marco stepped closer, pulling the duffel bag from Matteo’s grasp.
“The child isn’t his,” he whispered, the words cutting through the cold air.
He unfolded a file, pages filled with schematics of a genetically engineered infant, labeled “Subject X‑12.”
“We needed a trigger to expose you,” Marco said, his voice steady, “your past as a covert operative, the one you thought you erased.”
The realization hit like a punch: the cries, the flight, the hidden compartment—all orchestrated by a phantom hand to draw me out.
