At 2:13 a.m., Noah Carter dropped to the floor beside his bed, gripping his stomach and screaming that something inside him was moving

Detective Vance lowered his service weapon slowly, sliding it back into its holster with a decisive click. He looked at Agent Harris, then at Thomas and Sarah, his cop’s intuition telling him that brute force was a losing hand against an adversary holding all the institutional cards.

“If we aren’t getting out of here through the front door, and local backup isn’t answering the radio, we need to change the game,” Vance said, stepping forward. He glanced at the stainless-steel basin on the table. “Harris, you want the artifact and you want the boy. But if you take them by force, whatever dead-man switch Mrs. Miller is talking about will go off, and your thirty-year cover story blows wide open in front of every news outlet in the country. Am I right?”

Harris studied the detective for a long moment, weighing the risk. The federal agent adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses. “And what do you propose, Detective? A polite negotiation over tea?”

“No,” Vance said firmly. “A transfer of custody under medical supervision, with independent oversight. Not your men, not local cops—a neutral third party. And the boy stays with his parents.”

“Unacceptable,” Harris replied instantly. “The subject requires constant synchronization monitoring. He cannot leave a secure federal facility.”

“He stays right here in this hospital, or nobody leaves this room alive,” Thomas interrupted, his voice dropping an octave. He picked up the heavy steel basin containing the pulsing gray object, holding it over the edge of the table. “You want this artifact intact? One drop, and this thing shatters against the linoleum. Let's see how your superiors like explaining a total loss of primary assets.”

Harris’s eyes darted to the basin in Thomas’s hands. For the first time, genuine tension lined the federal agent's brow. He raised his hands slightly, palms facing outward in a gesture of cautious conciliation. “Mr. Miller, put the basin down. There is no need for self-sabotage. We can accommodate a supervised recovery period... provided certain conditions are met.”

“Name them,” Sarah said.

“First, the artifact must be placed inside a secure transport canister provided by my team,” Harris said, pointing toward the briefcase in his hand. “Second, the boy must be moved to our subterranean medical wing beneath the hospital parking structure within the hour. Third, you both sign comprehensive non-disclosure agreements under the National Security Act. In exchange, your son receives full medical treatment, and his condition is stabilized permanently without the risk of spontaneous node activation.”

Thomas looked at Sarah, silently asking the question that mattered most. Sarah stared at the floor for three agonizing seconds, then raised her head. The fire in her eyes had not dimmed; if anything, it burned hotter.