Before Daniel could process what was happening, rough hands grabbed his arms and yanked them behind his back. His breath hitched as cold metal snapped against his wrists—handcuffs. “Wait—I’m not with them!” he protested, but the officers weren’t listening. He had stumbled into a crime scene, and right now, he was a suspect.
Daniel sat on the ground, restrained, as officers swarmed the barn. They combed through the cages, the scattered documents, and the crude genetic modification charts. “He was inside when we got here,” one officer murmured, glancing at him. “Could be involved.” Daniel’s stomach twisted. He knew this looked bad.