Chapter Three
They Know
--
Cade had a bad feeling in his gut all morning. The kind that chewed through nerves and made every rusty creak in the barn sound like a warning.
They were supposed to be safe out here. Tucked away on a forgotten plot of Texas land, playing handyman for a war hero who wasn't even breathing yet.
Optimus Prime had been dead weight for days. Broken, burnt, silent under a tarp and scaffolding. Cade had been working nonstop to repair him. Stiles? He called it "playing God with a blowtorch" and made sarcastic remarks while passing him tools.
But it was working. Slowly. Something deep in the machine was shifting—healing, maybe. Waiting.
Which made the sound of approaching SUVs that much worse.
"Yeager," Stiles called from outside the barn, hand shielding his eyes from the sun. "You expecting a convoy?"
Cade set his tools down and jogged to the doorway. Three sleek, black SUVs rumbled down the gravel path. Dust trailed behind them like a warning shot.
"No plates," Stiles muttered. "That's never good."
--
Harold Attinger stepped out of the lead vehicle.
Black suit. Stone face. Government authority so thick you could smell it on his shoes. Agents spilled out after him—geared up, guns loaded, casual as death itself.
"Cade Yeager?" Attinger called.
"Yeah," Cade said warily, stepping off the porch.
"I'm with a federal task force. We have intel suggesting alien materials may be present on this property."
Cade forced a laugh. "Alien materials? I think you've got the wrong farm."
"You live here alone?"
"Yeah. Just me and my tools."
Attinger didn't blink. "That so?"
Behind him, one of the agents glanced toward the barn.
Cade stood straighter. "Listen, whatever you think I've got—"
Attinger interrupted, tone razor-sharp. "We're conducting a sweep. If you're clean, you've got nothing to worry about."
Before Cade could stop them, agents pushed past him.
--
Inside the house, Stiles found Tessa coming down the stairs. She hadn't seen the SUVs—just heard the tension in her father's voice.
"Stiles?" she asked, frowning.
"We've got a situation," he whispered. "You need to hide."
"What—why?"
"No time. Crawlspace. Closet. Anywhere. Go."
But it was too late.
Two agents burst through the front door.
One spotted her immediately.
"Who's this?"
Stiles stepped in front of her. "She's my assistant."
The agent raised a gun. "Down on the ground. Now."
Tessa froze.
"She's a teenager," Stiles snapped.
"I said get down!"
From outside, Cade's voice rang out. "Don't touch her!"
But the agent stepped closer, rifle pointed at Tessa's chest.
--
The barn exploded.
No warning. No build-up.
Just metal screaming, wood splintering, and a giant surging up from the wreckage like vengeance made solid.
Optimus Prime.
Charred. Towering. Alive.
Blue optics lit up like twin comets.
But he said nothing.
Not a word.
Just moved.
Fast.
An SUV flipped.
A soldier went flying.
Cade yelled from the yard. "Get Tessa out!"
--
Stiles grabbed her hand. "Go!"
They ducked under the agent's arm and ran through the kitchen door, boots slamming across floorboards.
Gunfire erupted outside.
Optimus tore through the field—silent, precise. He struck a drone from the sky, grabbed a car with one hand, and hurled it into another.
Bullets sparked off his armor. He didn't flinch.
Stiles and Tessa reached his truck. Cade sprinted after them, vaulting over a fence just as the barn went up in flame and smoke.
Stiles hit the gas.
--
The tires spun, flinging dirt and gravel. The truck fishtailed onto the road, Cade climbing into the bed with a gasp.
Behind them, drones chased.
A soldier shouted coordinates.
Optimus—silent, towering—disappeared into the tree line like a phantom of steel and fury.
Stiles took a hard turn, skidding down a country road barely wide enough for a single vehicle.
The truck bounced.
Tessa sobbed.
Cade swore under his breath.
"Are they following?"
Stiles checked the rearview. "Always."
--
They didn't stop for miles.
Only when they reached a long-abandoned gas station did Stiles finally let up on the gas.
Everyone sat in silence for a minute.
Tessa wiped her face.
Cade looked at her, guilt heavy in his eyes.
Stiles stepped out, leaned against the hood, and stared down the empty road.
"Guess the whole 'quiet life on a farm' thing's off the table."
Cade didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
--