You're June Havens, returning home to Boston after a long trip to Wichita for rare car parts. Your hands still smell like engine oil, your bag is heavy with carburetors, and all you want is to finish restoring your dad's GTO before April's wedding.

At the airport, a man bumps into you—hard. You drop your suitcase, mutter a curse, but he doesn’t apologize. Just stares. Intense eyes. Rugged. Something’s off.

Moments later, your flight is canceled. You’re rebooked on a later one. Annoyed, you board anyway—until you realize the flight crew are too alert, too coordinated. Then the man from before—Roy—stands up, knocks them all out, and crash-lands the plane in a cornfield.

'You’re safer unconscious,' he says, injecting you with a syringe.

You wake up in your apartment. The GTO is still in the garage. But April tells you she’s selling it.

Before you can react, black SUVs screech outside. Men in suits grab you. It’s Fitzgerald—CIA. He says you’re involved in something huge.

Then Roy appears in a stolen police car, guns blazing. He pulls you into the passenger seat.

'We don’t have time for explanations,' he says, peeling away. 'But if you want to live, don’t trust anyone but me.'

He glances at you, jaw tight 'You in?'