I take a deep breath, and my body moves before I can think. There's no time to hesitate.
The motel room is a wreck—bullet holes in the walls, shattered glass on the floor, and my blood staining the sheets. I have to get out. Now.
I scan the room, searching for anything useful. My fingers find something hard under the nightstand—a burner phone. But the back is open, and the battery is missing. Someone disabled it. Maybe as a warning.
I reach into my pocket and pull out a small, folded note. My heartbeat pounds as I read the words written in my own handwriting:
"Don't trust your memories."
A chill runs down my spine. What does that mean?
Below the message, there are coordinates. I don't recognize them, but they're my only clue.
Before I can process anything, the motel phone rings.
The sharp sound cuts through my nerves like a knife.
I freeze. My pulse races. No one should know I'm here.
Except for the person who left me that note.
The phone rings again.
I pick it up, forcing myself to stay calm.
"Sir," a nervous voice says, "federal agents are looking for you."
Adrenaline floods my veins.
I rush to the window.
Outside, black SUVs pull into the parking lot. Tactical teams spread out, red laser sights slicing through the night.
They found me.
A knock on the door. A calm, deadly voice follows.
"Nathan Vale, we know you're inside. Come out with your hands up."
I don't think. I run.
I shove the burner phone into my pocket, grab my jacket, and move fast.
I rip open the air vent in the closet. It's a tight fit, but I've escaped worse. Dust fills my lungs as I crawl inside. The metal groans under my weight, but I keep going.
Behind me, the motel door slams open.
Heavy boots stomp inside.
"He's gone," someone says.
"He was just here," another replies. "He's bleeding. He won't get far."
They don't know me.
I push forward, my muscles screaming. The vent shakes under me, and I freeze. One wrong sound, and I'm dead.
Then I hear it.
A click.
The sound of a gun's safety switching off.
They're checking the vents.
I move. Fast.
The metal scrapes against my skin as I push forward. I see an opening ahead—a grate leading outside.
Then—
A gunshot.
The vent explodes behind me.
I don't stop. I kick the grate open and drop into the alley, rolling as I hit the ground. Pain explodes in my wounded side, but I force myself to move.
Shouts ring out.
"There! In the alley!"
Red laser dots dart across the walls.
Run.
I take off, my feet pounding against the pavement. Every breath burns. Every step reminds me that I don't know what's happening. All I know is if I stop, I die.
A bullet zips past my ear, slamming into a dumpster. They're not trying to catch me. They're trying to kill me.
I need cover.
I turn left and jump over a chain-link fence. My body moves like it remembers something my mind doesn't. I hit the ground hard, but I keep going.
Footsteps behind me. Fast. Trained.
I weave through rusted shipping containers, slowing my breath. Think, Nathan. Outsmart them.
A shadow moves ahead.
I don't hesitate.
I grab a metal pipe from the ground, spin, and swing.
The agent rounding the corner takes the hit to the jaw. He crumples before he can fire. I don't give him a chance to recover. A knee to the ribs, a sharp twist—I grab his gun.
He groans, reaching for his radio.
I knock him out with a hard strike to the temple. He goes limp.
The gun in my hands feels strange but familiar.
A voice crackles over his radio. "Target lost. Keep searching."
I exhale, stepping into the shadows.
I should run. But something makes me stop.
The agent's ID badge is clipped to his vest. Not FBI. Not police.
I rip it off and read the name.
Private military.
This isn't a normal FBI chase.
This isn't about justice. It's about eliminating loose ends.
And I'm the loose end.
I shove the gun into my waistband and move. My body runs on instinct, but my mind is catching up.
Whoever these people are, they don't want me arrested. They want me dead.
I pull the note from my pocket, staring at the coordinates.
This is my only lead.
Sirens wail in the distance. More agents are coming.
No time to think.
I disappear into the night with one thought in my mind.
Someone set me up.
And I'm going to find out why.