Ethan leaned over the Phantom’s engine. He had no proper tools—just a small flathead screwdriver from his pocket. He scanned the components, ignoring the heat burning his fingertips.
“One minute,” one guard mocked.
Air. Fuel. Spark. Compression.
He traced the airflow in his mind. Before the engine died, he’d heard a faint whistle—too subtle for most people to notice.
Air where it didn’t belong.
“Five minutes left,” Bennett called. “People like you should know your limits.”
People like you.
The words sharpened Ethan’s focus instead of breaking it. He visualized the airflow again—filter, sensor, throttle body.
Then he saw it.
A small vacuum hose tucked beneath a plastic cover. Slightly loose. Almost invisible.
He slid his hand into the narrow gap, biting back a cry as the metal burned his skin. His fingers found the hose—it had slipped from its clamp. Extra air would confuse the sensor, sending faulty readings to the onboard computer, which would shut down ignition to prevent damage.
He tried to reseat it, but his fingers slipped.
“Time’s up!” Bennett snapped. “Pull him away.”