"I know," James whispered, barely audible. He kept shaking his head like he couldn't process it. "I know… I almost died. I almost… we all could've—"
He cut himself off, staring blankly at the scorched smoke still visible in the distance through the glass. He had faced death. Tasted it.
"What happened exactly?" Shane asked, trying to piece together a logical explanation even as his instincts told him there might not be one.
James swallowed hard, his eyes still flicking toward the rearview mirror like he expected the explosion to chase them down the road.
"I… I tried to trace the young madam's tracker, just like you told me to," he said, voice uncertain. "But then…"
He trailed off, unable to find the right words. But he didn't need to. Shane had seen it with his own eyes. The smoke. The sparks. The machine turning against them.
"The bomb didn't have a timer," Shane said quietly, thinking aloud. "It activated the moment you tried to trace her."
James nodded grimly, jaw clenched.
