“Good,” Victor said. “My buyer arrives tomorrow. A healthy male heir with clean genetics fetches a high price.”
The world went silent. They hadn’t killed my son. They had stolen him. They beat my wife into a coma to induce labor so they could sell our child.
The mission parameters shifted instantly.
Priority One: Secure the asset (my son).
Priority Two: Eliminate hostiles.
I moved to the basement access doors. I pried the lock and slipped inside. The basement was a fully equipped private medical clinic. And there, in the center, was an incubator.
Inside lay a tiny, wriggling baby boy. He had dark hair. My hair.
“I’m here, buddy,” I whispered, placing a gloved hand on the glass. “Dad’s here.”
I heard footsteps on the stairs.
“Check the levels,” Victor’s voice drifted down. “Dominic, check the generator.”
I hid behind a stack of oxygen tanks. Dominic burst into the room, flashlight sweeping. He walked over to the incubator and tapped on the glass hard.
