Chapter 42: Project Genesis

Malik

The room fell silent after Zariah read the title.

Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. The only sound came from the rain striking the windows outside the safe house. After everything we had uncovered over the past few weeks, I should have been used to surprises. Instead, I found myself staring at the document as though it might somehow explain itself.

Project Genesis.

The words felt familiar.

Not because I had seen them before.

Because they sounded like something my father would create.

My eyes moved down the page again. Five names sat beneath the title. David Brooks. Alicia Brooks. Gabriel St. James. Isaiah Cross. Victor Hale.

Five people.

Five signatures.

Every road we followed eventually led back to them.

Darius pulled out a chair and sat down heavily. “Please tell me that’s not what I think it is.”

I almost laughed.

The problem was I had no idea what it was.

The document looked more than twenty years old. The paper had yellowed with age, and several sections had become difficult to read. Someone had folded it so many times that the creases threatened to tear completely apart.

Zariah remained standing beside me.

I could feel the tension radiating from her.

The discovery had affected her differently than the rest of us. Every new answer seemed connected to her parents. Every secret brought her closer to a truth she wasn’t sure she wanted.

I understood that feeling.

My own family wasn’t exactly making this easier.

I carefully turned the page.

Several paragraphs followed.

Most were written in legal language designed to confuse more than explain. The deeper I read, the more irritated I became. Whoever drafted the document clearly enjoyed hiding information behind complicated wording.

Then a sentence caught my attention.

I read it twice.

Then a third time.

My stomach tightened.

“What?”

Zariah noticed immediately.

I handed her the page.

Her eyes moved across the paragraph before widening slightly.

“What does this mean?”

Darius stood and walked around the table.

I pointed toward the line.

“The child.”

The room immediately grew quiet.

The document referenced a child.

Not by name.

Not by gender.

Just a child.

A future child.

A protected child.

The language was vague, but the implication was obvious.

Twenty-one years ago, before Zariah was born, five people signed an agreement centered around a child they believed would one day become important.

The realization sent a chill through me.

Because Zariah was twenty-three.

The timeline fit.

Too perfectly.

“No.”

She shook her head immediately.

“No.”

The second denial sounded weaker than the first.

I understood why.

She was trying to reject the possibility before it fully formed.

Unfortunately, the evidence wasn’t cooperating.

Darius leaned over the table.

“The dates match.”

Nobody liked hearing that.

Least of all Zariah.

I watched her sit down slowly.

For several moments she simply stared at the page in front of her. The confidence she normally carried had disappeared. Not completely. Just enough for me to see how overwhelmed she felt.

I hated seeing it.

More than I should have.

The realization annoyed me.

Unfortunately, it was also true.

“What if it’s not me?”

The question sounded almost hopeful.

I wished I could give her the answer she wanted.

I couldn’t.

“The surveillance wall says otherwise.”

The words came from Darius.

Zariah looked away immediately.

I shot him a look.

He had the decency to look guilty.

A little.

The room fell silent again.

Eventually, I continued reading.

The remaining pages contained references to funding, security measures, contingency plans, and several names that had been blacked out. Most of it raised more questions than answers.

Then I reached the final page.

The page that changed everything.

At first glance, it appeared blank.

Then I noticed the handwriting.

A single note had been added years later.

Different ink.

Different penmanship.

Different author.

I recognized the handwriting immediately.

Gabriel.

My pulse slowed.

Not from fear.

From focus.

Every instinct I possessed suddenly locked onto the page.

“What is it?”

This time, it was Zariah asking.

I didn’t answer immediately.

I couldn’t.

Because the message was only one sentence long.

One sentence.

Twenty years of silence.

Twenty years of questions.

Reduced to seven words.

I swallowed hard.

Then read it aloud.

“If you’re reading this, we’re already losing.”

Nobody spoke.

The words settled over the room like smoke.

Darius cursed under his breath.

Zariah stared at the page.

I stared at Gabriel’s handwriting.

For the first time since this nightmare began, he no longer felt like a ghost.

Ghosts don’t leave messages.

Ghosts don’t make plans.

Ghosts don’t warn people.

This message had been written by a man who knew something terrible was coming.

A man who expected to disappear.

A man who believed someone would eventually find the truth.

The question was what happened next.

Before anyone could speak, a notification appeared on Darius’s laptop.

The sharp sound cut through the silence.

We all looked up.

Darius frowned.

Then his expression changed.

The color drained from his face.

“What?”

He turned the screen toward us.

A live security feed filled the display.

The camera showed the front gate of the safe house.

A lone figure stood outside.

Motionless.

Watching.

Even through the grainy night-vision image, I recognized him instantly.

The height.

The build.

The posture.

My heart stopped.

Because standing outside the gate was the same masked man from the funeral home.

And this time…

He had come alone.