The crying had been going on for eighty-seven minutes when Leah started counting.

The door between first class and the rest of the plane clicked shut. Marcus locked the latch with a sharp, metallic snap, drawing the heavy privacy curtains across the galley.

"Isolate the cabin network," Julian ordered, his voice suddenly sharp, commanding, and cold. He gently pulled the disc from his son’s onesie, his knuckles white as the tiny prong slid free. Noah let out one last, shuddering sob, his little head collapsing against Julian’s chest as the pain stopped. Within sixty seconds, the baby’s breathing slowed into an exhausted, deep sleep.

Julian laid the black disc on the fold-out wooden tray. Beside it, Leah placed hers.

They were identical twins. Same matte finish. Same serial code etched in microscopic white font along the rim: *TX-904-V*.

Julian stared at the two discs, then dragged his eyes up to Leah. "Where did you get this?"

"My kitchen," Leah said. "Behind the pantry vent. Four days ago, two men knocked on our door in Chicago. They said they were utility workers checking for gas leaks. My mom told me to take Maya upstairs to the bedroom and pack one bag each. When she came up, she had this in her hand. She put us in a taxi, gave me two hundred and seventy-four euros, and bought us two one-way tickets to Rome."

Julian’s eyes narrowed. "What is your mother's name?"

"Elena. Elena Vance."

Julian staggered backward against the suite wall as if he’d been struck in the chest. "Elena? Elena is your mother?"

"You know her?" Leah asked, her steady composure finally cracking, a desperate hope flaring in her chest. "She told me to go to Rome. She told me Aunt Celia would be waiting at Terminal 3. But she wouldn't answer her phone after we boarded."

"Elena didn't tell you who I am, did she?" Julian asked, his voice thick with emotion.

"No."

"I’m your uncle, Leah," Julian said, sinking onto his knees so he was eye-level with her. "Elena is my sister. And she hasn't spoken to me in five years because she thought my research would get us all killed."

The floor beneath their feet seemed to drop an inch as the aircraft hit clear-air turbulence. The seatbelt sign pinged overhead.

"She was right," Julian whispered, staring at the black discs. "These aren't military trackers. They’re corporate prototypes from my own laboratory at Vance Aerospace. Someone bypassed three levels of biometric security to steal them. I thought I was fleeing to our family estate in Tuscany to hide Noah after his mother died last month. But they didn't just target me."

"They wanted both of us," Leah realized, her stomach plunging. "They wanted to wipe out the whole family."

"Not wipe us out," Marcus interrupted, his radio earpiece humming. He looked at Julian with grim intensity. "Control on the ground just flagged an unauthorized data uplink originating from inside this aircraft. Someone on this flight isn't just tracking us. They’re transmitting our coordinates to an interception team waiting on the tarmac in Rome."

Leah’s heart pounded against her ribs like a trapped bird. "Maya is back there. In row 28. Alone."