A harsh winter wind swept across the Genoa City airfield, rattling loose bits of gravel and tugging at the edges of Matt Clark’s long coat. But nothing the weather could offer felt as frigid as the emptiness he’d carried for years. The world had buried him, forgotten him, written him off as a dead man—and he had lived in that void, feeding on bitterness until it transformed into purpose.

From the edge of the private runway, he observed through binoculars as a glossy limousine rolled to a stop beside the terminal. Noah Newman stepped out first, looking drained, followed by Sienna. Their fatigue was written across their hunched shoulders as they trudged inside, no doubt believing they had finally outrun danger. But Matt knew better. The threat had not only followed them—it had overtaken them entirely.

He lowered the binoculars, amusement curling the corners of his scar-marked face. While federal agents combed the Midwest hunting for a fugitive who didn’t exist, he had simply shadowed the Newman family’s travel plans, slipping into place with meticulous precision. “Welcome home, Noah,” he murmured. “Your parents are going to love this little reunion.”

His gaze drifted toward the gleaming jet—a Gulfstream G650 bearing the Newman insignia with arrogant subtlety. Prepped and fueled, it was everything a powerful family would need for a safe flight… and the perfect vessel for destruction. Inside, the scent of polished wood and expensive leather filled the quiet cabin. Matt moved with silent purpose, his gloved fingers brushing over the luxury seats as he approached a maintenance panel.

The device he pulled from his coat wasn’t intended to blow the plane into fire and debris. That would have been too simple. Too merciful. Instead, he wired a custom-built mechanism into the aircraft’s communication system—a timer, jammer, and remote override rolled into one. When triggered, it would seal the jet, cut off communication, and give him full control over how and when the terror unfolded. A small red light blinked to life: four hours. Just enough for fear to take root.

Rather than flee, Matt squeezed into the cramped luggage compartment at the back of the plane and powered up a tablet. The authorities expected him to be on the run. None of them would imagine he was already aboard the Newmans’ plane, waiting.

On the ranch miles away, the glow of a burning hearth couldn’t warm Sharon Newman. Even wrapped in cashmere, she trembled with a dread she couldn’t shake. Nick tried reassuring her—Noah had checked in, and he’d be home soon—but she felt danger looming. The nightmares of Cameron Kirsten had faded, yet the sense of being hunted lingered like a shadow clinging to her skin.

Victor Newman, drink in hand, tried grounding her fears in logic. His security had swept the property; nothing was amiss. But Sharon insisted Matt Clark wasn’t a typical thug—he was a strategist with intimate knowledge of their family. Nick dismissed him as a ghost from the past… until the room fell silent at the sound of a notification.

The massive smart screen buzzed to life—not with a face, but a red countdown ticking under cryptic text: “The bird is in the cage. But the cage is mine.” Beneath it came chilling demands: toxic gas release, public confession, Sharon’s solitary arrival. Failure meant decompression at 30,000 feet.

Sharon gasped. Nick instantly understood—the family jet had been compromised. Victor attempted to contact the pilot, but the call never connected. Matt had jammed communications. The horrifying truth dawned: he was already on the plane with Noah and Sienna.

Newman Enterprises erupted into crisis mode. Victor converted the boardroom into a command hub, barking orders for satellite visuals and emergency lockdowns. Yet the jet’s flight systems were overridden with military-level encryption. The pilots had been drugged. Autopilot had been remotely activated. And time was running out.

Victor ordered an AI-assisted system breach to access internal cameras. The screen flickered before a grainy image appeared—Matt Clark lounging comfortably in Victor’s own favorite seat, sipping top-shelf bourbon and staring directly into the camera. He mouthed two words: Tick tock.

Racing to the airfield, Victor, Nick, and Sharon reached the tarmac with only minutes left before takeoff. The stairs were still down, as though inviting them inside. Sharon broke free from Nick and sprinted, grabbing hold of the rail just as the stairs began retracting. Nick lunged after her, hauling them both into the cabin at the last possible second before the door sealed shut.

Inside stood Matt—gun in one hand, detonator in the other, amused at the unexpected bonus of having both Nick and Sharon trapped with him. Noah and Sienna were locked away in the rear cabin, their condition unknown. The engines thundered as the plane rolled forward. Despite Victor’s barricade, Matt accelerated straight toward it, forcing security vehicles to swerve aside at the last second as the jet lifted into the air.

Above the ground, Matt reveled in the chaos. One hour of fuel. One hour to decide the fate of everyone on board. Nick tried bargaining, offering himself if Matt would release the others, but Matt wanted suffering—wanted the Newmans to feel the gravity of their past.

And as the jet banked sharply under Matt’s control, the countdown continued to drain away, marking the beginning of a terrifying race against time—one with no guarantee of survival.