"Uncle Marx," the transmission crackled through the speakers—thin, strained, but urgent. It was Ren. "I've been trying to reach you for hours. There's a lot you need to see. Things we missed before." A brief pause, breath catching. "Something's happening. I caught a glimpse of Sister Amaya—her signal was locked to a fixed position—but then it vanished."
Marx's hands stilled above the keyboard. For a heartbeat, he did not move. Then he straightened slowly, the laptop's glow catching the hard, sharpened light in his eyes.
"Send me everything," he said, his voice low and controlled.
Outside the car, rain began to fall—soft at first, then relentless—drumming against the roof in a steady rhythm, like the pulse of a storm reclaiming the sky.
"Uncle…" Ren's voice wavered, stripped of its usual confidence. "Sister Amaya is in grave danger."
Marx turned slightly, tension coiling through his shoulders. "Explain."
