Sam as usual was the last to leave home in the morning. Emily had just left, taking Sophie and Ethan with her as their school was on her way to her job. She had made coffee and he was halfway through his second cup of coffee when his phone buzzed violently against the kitchen counter. He glanced at it, expecting a message about the band or maybe a meme from Jake—something light, something normal. But when he saw Jake's name pop up alongside a frantic flurry of text bubbles, his gut clenched.
Sam, call me. Now.
Something was wrong. He could feel it. A chill ran down his spine, and he hesitated for just a second before snatching up his phone and dialing Jake's number. It rang once, twice, and then Jake's voice came through, sounding breathless and panicked.
"Sam?" Jake blurted out, his words coming out in a jumbled rush. "God, man, it's Jenna. Something happened. She's… she's been in an accident."
Sam's heart dropped like a stone, the room spinning around him. "What? What do you mean, an accident?" he demanded, his voice rising as he struggled to process the words. He tightened his grip on the phone, his knuckles turning white. "Jake, slow down. What happened?"
"I don't know the full details," Jake choked out, his voice thick with fear. "But… she's in the hospital, Sam. It's bad. Really bad."
The words echoed in Sam's head, reverberating like a series of explosions. Jenna. The one person in the group who never seemed fazed by anything, the one with the razor-sharp wit and unshakeable confidence. In the hospital? No, it didn't make any sense. He'd just seen her last night, and she'd been fine. Smiling. Laughing. How could she be lying in a hospital bed now?
"Jake, what the hell happened?" Sam repeated, the question tasting bitter on his tongue. He tried to keep his voice steady, but he could hear it wavering. "Was it—did she… was she hit by a car? Did she fall asleep at the wheel?"
There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Sam heard Jake's breath hitch as if he was struggling to hold it together. When he spoke again, his voice was low and haunted.
"They're saying she went off the road. But that is not possible Sam Jenna knows that road ….she could drive that road in her sleep. Something happened there Sam. Like, someone… someone had to run her off the road"
Sam staggered back a step, his free hand fumbling for support as he grabbed the edge of the counter. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force the swirling chaos in his mind to calm down. "Someone run her off the road?" he repeated, disbelief thick in his voice. "What do you mean? Are you saying this wasn't an accident?"
"Yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying." Jake's voice cracked with fear and frustration.
She has driven that road everyday from she was seventeen.there is no way she runs off the road. And get this—they found her at the bottom of a ditch, unconscious, barely breathing. The doctors said it's a miracle she's even alive."
Sam's thoughts scattered in every direction. His skin prickled with cold sweat, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it would burst out of his chest. A dark, suffocating panic started to take hold, and he found himself struggling to breathe. Not Jenna. It couldn't be Jenna.
"Which hospital?" Sam managed to get out, his voice strained.
"St. Mary's," Jake replied quickly. "They've got her in ICU. I'm heading there now. Are you—?"
"I'm on my way," Sam interrupted, his words sharp, urgent. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."
He didn't wait for Jake's response. He hung up and shoved the phone into his pocket, his hands trembling as he grabbed his car keys. He didn't even remember pulling on his shoes or locking the front door. One minute he was in the kitchen, and the next he was in his car, the engine roaring to life as he sped out of the driveway, tires screeching.
The drive to St. Mary's felt like it took forever. Every red light, every car that dared to go below the speed limit—it all blurred together in a maddening haze of frustration and fear. Sam's mind kept looping back to Jake's words: Someone ran her off the road.
It didn't make sense. It couldn't be real. Jenna was one of the best drivers he knew—cautious but confident. No way would she just lose control like that. Someone did this. Someone hurt her. Jake was right. Now he had two friends in the hospital.
Oh, God, Marcus.
The realization hit Sam like a sledgehammer to the chest. First Marcus, now Jenna. One incident, sure, maybe that could have been a freak accident. But two? No way. His hands tightened around the steering wheel, anger boiling beneath the surface of his fear. Whoever was doing this wasn't just targeting them. They were hunting them. And they were getting bolder.
By the time Sam pulled into the hospital parking lot, his heart was racing so fast he felt lightheaded. He stumbled out of the car and sprinted toward the entrance, barely registering the stares from the people around him.
"Jenna… I'm here for Jenna Ralston," he panted at the front desk, clutching the counter for support. "She was brought in… an accident…"
The receptionist glanced up, her expression softening as she took in Sam's wild eyes and disheveled appearance. "Are you family?"
Sam hesitated, his throat tight. "No, but I'm—I'm her friend. Please, I just need to know if she's okay."
The woman nodded and picked up the phone, speaking quietly to someone on the other end. After a few seconds, she put it down and gave Sam a small, reassuring smile.
"She's stable but still unconscious. You can go up to the ICU, but I'll need to check with her doctor first."
"Thank you," Sam breathed, relief flooding through him. He turned and practically ran to the elevator, his mind spinning. Stable but unconscious. It was better than he'd feared, but it didn't feel like enough. Not when Jenna could have died out there.
The elevator doors opened with a ding, and Sam stepped out, his eyes darting around until he spotted Jake pacing nervously in front of a set of double doors. He looked up as Sam approached, his face pale and drawn.
"She's in there," Jake said softly, jerking his thumb toward the doors. "They're monitoring her. She's still unconscious, has a few broken ribs… they said she's lucky to be alive."
"Jesus, Jake…" Sam whispered, the words catching in his throat.
"I know, man." Jake swallowed hard, his gaze shifting to the closed doors. "I was with her just last night. And now… now she's in there. I don't understand. First Marcus, now Jenna? It's like someone's after us."
The thought hung heavy in the air, unspoken but undeniable. Sam looked at Jake, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and determination.
"You're right," he said quietly, the weight of realization settling over him like a dark cloud. "Someone is after us. And if we don't figure out why… we might be next."
The two friends stood there in silence, the beeping of distant machines and the murmur of voices around them a distant hum. Sam took a deep breath, his gaze hardening as he stared at the ICU doors.
Whoever had done this had crossed a line.
And Sam wasn't going to rest until he found out who—and why.
A few days earlier, two men quietly arrived by Chartered Lear jet at a secluded airfield.
The quiet hum of the private jet's slowly fading as Hans Schmidt stepped down the metal stairs onto the tarmac of a small North Carolina airfield. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine from the surrounding forest. Hans inhaled deeply, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored suit as he surveyed the area with a sharp, calculating gaze.
Behind him, Karl descended with a more casual stride, his hulking frame covered in a dark hoodie and cargo pants. He carried a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, the weight of it barely registering. His scarred knuckles flexed, betraying the tension he felt despite his calm exterior.
"This place is... quaint," Karl muttered in German, his eyes scanning the quiet airfield. "Doesn't look like much happens here."
Hans smirked, his voice clipped and precise. "It doesn't need to look like much. Small places like this tend to hide the most interesting secrets."
They moved toward the waiting black SUV parked at the edge of the runway, the driver stepping out and nodding respectfully as he opened the door for them. Hans slid into the back seat, Karl following closely behind, the vehicle's tinted windows shielding them from prying eyes.
As the SUV pulled away from the airfield, Hans pulled out a sleek tablet and opened the video he had seen countless times. It was low-resolution footage, recorded during a small band's live-streamed gig. The camera panned across the stage, capturing the group's members as they played to an energetic crowd. But Hans wasn't interested in their music.
He paused the video, zooming in on a close-up of one of the guitarist and lead singer—a young woman with dark hair and a confident grin. Her arm, raised mid-strum, bore a tattoo that made Hans's heart race every time he saw it. The intricate geometric patterns matched those he and Karl had spent years searching for, and she wasn't the only one. Two other band members in the video had identical tattoos, their patterns partially visible beneath their sleeves.
"They don't even know what they carry," Hans murmured, his lips curling into a sly smile. "They flaunt it like it's some kind of fashion statement."
Karl leaned over, his jaw tightening as he studied the paused video. "Idiots. Do you think they even understand what those markings mean?"
"Of course not," Hans replied coolly, his tone dripping with disdain. "If they did, they wouldn't be so careless. But it doesn't matter. What matters is that they exist. And now, we know where to find them."
" You still think only one of them is the real deal?" Karl asked
" They had to have seen it somewhere and copied it, and they all can not be real as being so close to each other would have made all the markings change, and as far as we can tell in this video, the markings are all in their dormant stage"
Hans shook his head slowly. Rubbing his own set of markings on his hand.
" I think only one of them is real, the trick now is finding out which one"
Karl sat back, his large hands gripping his knees. "And what's the plan? Just waltz in and have them all show us their arms?"
Hans chuckled softly, a sound that held no warmth. "No, brother. We'll observe first. Find out who they are, who they associate with, and how much they know. If they're clueless, as I suspect, that makes things easier for us."
"And if they're not?" Karl asked, his voice carrying a dangerous edge.
Hans's smile didn't falter. "Then we deal with them accordingly. One way or another, we will find out who has the real markings"
As the SUV rolled smoothly onto a quiet suburban street, the neatly manicured lawns and picket fences a stark contrast to the dangerous intentions brewing inside the vehicle. Hans glanced out the window, his sharp blue eyes taking in every detail of the neighborhood.
"They're not professionals," Hans continued, his voice calm and measured. "If they were, we wouldn't have found them so easily. They're amateurs, probably with no idea what kind of power they're playing with."
Karl grunted, cracking his knuckles. "Still, amateurs can get lucky. We shouldn't underestimate them."
"We won't," Hans said simply. He turned off the tablet and placed it neatly back into his leather briefcase. "We'll start with the one they call Marcus. Watch and observe, maybe we can get a good look at his arms and see if his markings change when you are close"
Again Karl subconsciously rubbed he markings on his own hands. "And what about the professor and Homeland, what if they show up?"
Hans's expression darkened slightly, his mind flashing back to the near misses, the lost opportunities. "They'll show up eventually," he said, his voice cold. " It's only a matter of time before we cross paths again. We'll be ready."
" Tell me why we didn't bring the Jacobs brothers with us again?" Karl asked.
" Too risky to have them here, " Hans flashed a smile at him "besides this is a simple job, we can handle this quickly and quietly"
The SUV came to a smooth stop in front of a modest motel on the outskirts of town. Hans and Karl stepped out, their movements deliberate and purposeful. Hans adjusted his suit jacket, his sharp gaze scanning the area.
"Two rooms," Hans said to the driver, handing him a roll of bills. "No names."
The driver nodded, hurrying into the motel office. Hans turned to Karl, his expression unreadable. "Stay sharp, brother. With them showing off the markings like that, if we can find them so can others"
Karl grinned, a dark, predatory glint in his eyes. "Good. Let them come."
Hans didn't respond. Instead, he turned and walked toward the motel, his mind already piecing together the next steps of their plan. The markings had led them here, to this small, unsuspecting town. And now, the hunt was on.
The next few days was a whirlwind of silent observation and ruthless efficiency for Hans and Karl Schmidt. They followed the band members—tracking their routines, habits, and relationships—Han's began to worry about attracting attention. Even though they were careful, people had a tendency to know when they are being watched, especially over time.
Karl, ever the blunt instrument, had insisted on moving quickly. Their first strike had come against Marcus, the bassist. A carefully staged "accident" had left him unconscious and bleeding, but they were met with a frustrating truth. Karl first marking on his wrist had changed shortly after he stepped off the plane. It took a brief second to look at Marcus wrist as he lay unconscious on the ground to see that he was not the one they were looking for.. It was simply a tattoo.
"They're fake," Hans had growled, his fists clenched as he stared at the intricate but meaningless ink on Marcus's wrist. The markings were an imitation—flawless at a glance, but entirely lacking the telltale signs of the real thing. The first marking would have changed just like it had done on Karl's wrist.
Later, Karl paced the hotel room with barely restrained rage. "Why the hell would they fake something like this? What's the point?"
Hans had no answers, but his determination only deepened. "If one of them has the real markings, they'll be close to the others. We'll keep watching."
Their next target had been Jenna, the lead singer. Hans had directed Karl to drive her off the road, creating what appeared to be another tragic accident. But when he reached the wreak car, he found the same disappointing result. Jenna's markings, though convincing from a distance, were nothing more than art—deliberate but fake. He took out his knife, as he crouch down beside her, she tried to talk but she was nearly audible before she passed out, blood trickling down her face.
She was not in a good position, almost being strangled by the seat belt. He slowly cut her loose, allowing her the fall forward in a better position.
He slowly put away the blade, and then adjusted her head to make her more comfortable.
He sighed loudly as he stood up. He glance up at Karl who was standing up by the bank looking down at him and slowly shook his head. He saw Karl threw up his hands in frustration. He turned and started to walk back up the slope. They could not afford to be wrong again.
By the time they returned to their motel, Hans was seething. He stared at the photos they'd taken, scrutinizing every detail of the tattoos, trying to make sense of it. "They must have seen someone with the real markings," he muttered. "That's the only explanation. These designs—they didn't come out of nowhere."
Karl, sitting on the edge of the bed with a scowl, crossed his arms. "We're wasting time. If the other two figure out they're being hunted, they'll vanish. And then we'll have nothing."
Hans nodded grimly. The attacks on Marcus and Jenna had been deliberate but also reckless. They had drawn attention—attention they couldn't afford if the authorities or, worse, the professor, got wind of their presence. Still, they had no choice now but to act quickly.
"We focus on the other two," Hans decided, his voice cold and firm. "Sam and Jake. If one of them is the real carrier, they'll give themselves away soon enough."
"And if they're not?" Karl asked, his voice low and dangerous.
"Then we move on. The markings will lead us eventually," Hans said, though there was a sharp edge of frustration in his tone. "But if we're wrong again... it'll be on you to clean up the mess."
Karl smirked, cracking his knuckles. "I'll take care of it."
The days of careful observation had been productive but maddening. Hans knew now that the markings they sought weren't on Marcus or Jenna—but that meant the real targets could be even closer than he realized. Sam and Jake were the last links in the chain, and Hans didn't plan to let them slip away.
As they planned their next move, a creeping sense of urgency pressed on both brothers. They could feel the window of opportunity narrowing. If the band members realized what was happening, they might scatter—and the trail would go cold.
Hans glanced at Karl, his mind already calculating their next steps. "We need to move fast," he said, his voice tight. "No more mistakes."
Karl grinned, his expression dark and eager. "Let's finish this."
Hans didn't respond. He stared at the photos of the tattoos one last time, his mind racing. The fake markings had been a clever ruse, but they wouldn't stop him. If anything, they only made him more certain of one thing. One of them had the real markings, and he will not stop until he find out who.