Daemon turned to his men, who were waiting tensely by the door. "The chip's signal led us to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of New York City," he said, his voice sharp and commanding. "If we move quickly, we can still get there before anything happens."
Tristan nodded, reluctantly falling in line.
Despite how furious he was, he knew they had to act fast.
Daemon gathered his team, his gaze hard as steel, and they all loaded up into sleek black cars, engines roaring to life.
The drive was tense, everyone on edge, with Tristan staring out the window, his heart pounding in his chest.
When they reached the warehouse, it was exactly as Daemon's men had described—run-down, empty, and surrounded by weeds and broken fences and vast dry lands.
The air was thick with the smell of dust and something metallic, and the place looked as if it hadn't been touched in years.
