“We’re stopping a man from taking control of the West Coast.”
Logan nods slowly.
“…Tuesday, huh?”
I stare down at the moving signal on my screen.
The convoy racing south.
Toward Los Angeles.
Toward control.
Toward Phase Three.
And now—
We’re racing them.
Through a mountain storm.
In a helicopter.
With just over two hours before the system activates.
I tighten my grip on the laptop.
Because somewhere ahead of us—
The Architect is running out of time.
And so are we.
29
The Architect
The desert highway stretches endlessly under the night sky.
Black asphalt.
No traffic.
No lights.
Exactly the way he prefers it.
The command vehicle moves smoothly through the darkness, part of a three-vehicle convoy slicing south across Nevada.
Lead vehicle.
Command vehicle.
Rear security.
Each spaced perfectly.
Each changing formation every twenty miles.
