SOPHIA'S POV

The digital clock on the bomb box ticked down in a slow, silent beat that hurt to watch.

00:38:12.

The clear liquid inside the glass tube bubbled a little under the hard rain, glowing with a soft, unstable blue light. Rain ran down the sides of the black box and dripped onto the road. I could hear my own heartbeat over the storm.

"It's a small chemical bomb," Lucas said, his voice deadly low as he crouched on the wet road of the driveway, with his flashlight shining on the wires under the digital screen. "It's not made to blow up the mountain. It's made to burst when...