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The Real Story

As if answering their unspoken questions, Wren’s messages returned, flooding the screen in rapid bursts. “The Solace Group uses drivers like you—random, innocent haulers—so there’s no trace,” the text read. Derek’s stomach turned to lead. He wasn’t special; he had been used. Wren’s words cut deeper: “The package you kept? Prototype Alpha. Most never survived handling. You did. That matters.” Derek’s heart thumped as he leaned closer, desperate to understand.
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