Ethan didn't move
His finger tightened around the pistol,his breathing became shallow.Down below Maxwell Juno stepped closer to the warehouse door,still holding that notebook like a cursed relics.
"I'm not here to hurt you," he called up. "But if you stay in there, they'll find you. And when they do, it won't be clean."
Ethan backed away from the window and glanced at his duffel bag. He didn't trust the man, but every second in this place felt like borrowed time. He thought about the photo of himself, the timestamp, the Polaroids. Someone had him marked. And now this stranger knew his name.
"Why should I trust you?" Ethan shouted.
Maxwell didn't answer at first. Then, calmly: "Because I was Caleb before you."
The words hit like a brick. Ethan's grip loosened slightly.
"What does that mean?"
Maxwell raised the notebook. "You've got questions. I have a few answers. But I'm not giving them from the sidewalk."
Ethan hesitated, then finally moved. He grabbed the bag, shoved the notebook inside, and slung it over his shoulder. With his gun still drawn, he crept down the stairs. Every step felt like a risk.
When he reached the door, he took a deep breath and cracked it open.
Maxwell stood five feet away, hands raised. Late thirties, short-cropped dark hair, wiry build. His jacket was soaked through, and his eyes carried the weight of someone who hadn't slept in weeks.
"Show me your hands," Ethan said.
Maxwell did. No weapon.
Ethan stepped out, gun still up. "Talk fast."
Maxwell didn't flinch. "You're not the first person to get one of their packages. You're not even the tenth. They pick people, test them, use them. Then erase them."
Ethan's mouth went dry. "Who are they?"
Maxwell lowered his hands. "People who think they're fixing the world. People with resources and no conscience. They call it the Brinlake Protocol."
Ethan narrowed his eyes. "That sounds like a bad sci-fi script."
"Yeah, well, the difference is you're living in it." Maxwell turned and nodded toward the alley. "We need to move. If they pinged the phone, they'll be here within an hour."
They started walking.
Ethan kept a step behind, watching Maxwell's every move. "How do I know you're not one of them?"
"If I was, you'd already be on your knees with a bag over your head," Maxwell said flatly.
The rain hadn't let up. It poured over the cracked pavement and ran in rivulets along the gutters. Brinlake felt even more dangerous now, like it was turning against itself.
Maxwell led him through a maze of alleys, keeping to the darkest paths. "They call us Couriers," he explained. "The people they choose. You deliver something, and they watch what happens. They study it. Reactions, consequences, damage."
"Elias Wynn," Ethan said quietly. "He's dead."
Maxwell nodded. "They wanted him dead. They knew how he'd react to that package. They used you to get it to him without leaving fingerprints."
Ethan's gut twisted. "So I'm just a pawn."
"We all were."
They came to an underground parking garage, its entrance half-collapsed from disuse. Maxwell ducked under the barrier and motioned for Ethan to follow. Inside, the air turned stale, heavy with oil and mildew. Rows of cars stood abandoned, stripped for parts.
At the far end, behind a stack of concrete barriers, Maxwell pulled aside a tarp covering a rusted hatchback.
"Get in," he said. "We're going to the Ark."
Ethan frowned. "What's the Ark?"
Maxwell slid into the driver's seat and started the engine. "The last safe place for people like us."
The car rumbled to life, headlights cutting through the dark. Ethan climbed in, still gripping the pistol. As they drove, he looked at Maxwell's notebook resting on the dashboard.
"It's like mine," he said.
Maxwell nodded. "They give each Courier one. Not just for tracking—some of the pages are written in code. Clues. Instructions. Others were written by past Couriers. Some survived. Most didn't."
Ethan stared at the notebook. "Why me?"
Maxwell's jaw tightened. "Same reason they picked me. Clean record. No close family. A job that keeps you moving. And most important makes you curious enough to open the box."
They drove in silence for a while, the city slipping past in blurred shadows. Ethan thought about every delivery he'd ever made, every stranger's door, every alley and apartment.
"How did you escape?" he asked.
"I didn't," Maxwell said. "I just ran faster than the last guy."
They exited onto a narrow road that led toward the edge of Brinlake,an area Ethan had only seen once before on a GPS map. Industrial ruins, fenced-off lots, and a scattering of condemned buildings surrounded them.
Maxwell pulled the car behind a crumbling office complex and killed the lights.
"The Ark's under here," he said. "Come on."
They entered through a side door, moving past peeling wallpaper and gutted furniture. Then, in a supply closet, Maxwell pried open a trapdoor. A metal ladder disappeared into the dark.
He gestured. "You first."
Ethan hesitated, then climbed down. The shaft was narrow, barely lit, but it opened into a hidden tunnel system. Concrete walls, pipes overhead, and a chill that cut through his jacket.
Maxwell dropped in after him and flicked a switch. Fluorescent lights buzzed to life overhead.
They walked for two minutes before reaching a thick steel door. Maxwell keyed in a code and pulled it open.
Beyond it was a makeshift bunker.
Three people sat at a long table. A wall of screens glowed with live feeds from across Brinlake. Maps, mugshots, lists.
A woman looked up from a terminal. "You brought him?"
Maxwell nodded. "He's the new Courier."
Ethan stepped forward, eyes scanning the room.
Everything he thought he knew about his city, his job, his life,was all unraveling.
The woman stood. "My name is Harper. Welcome to the Ark. If you want to survive what's coming, you'll need to start listening. And be a fast learner."