My knees gave out, and I sank onto a kitchen chair. “My dad was an accountant,” I whispered. Gabriel turned, his expression grim. “That was his cover. He was a lead researcher for the Origin Initiative.”
“They staged the attack at your work to flush you out,” Gabriel explained rapidly. “If you had gone in, you’d be a casualty. Since you stayed home, you’re now a fugitive terrorist. It gives them license to hunt you.” “Hunt me? Why?” I cried. Gabriel threw a heavy coat at me. “Because you aren’t just his daughter. You’re his life’s work. Subject 7B.”
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“We have two minutes before that sedan breaches your front door,” he said, checking his watch. “We need to move. Now.”
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