For good?

      The bunker turned out to be surprisingly modern — armored walls, a generator that works almost silently, and even a laboratory corner with basic equipment. Mica ran her finger over the dust on the monitor — the tracks were fresh. “Who put all this together?"— What is it?” she asked, her eyes still on the screen of Wexler’s files. “I’m not the only one who wants to stop him,” Mark said, sorting through the weapons on the table.       She was about to ask “who else?” when the phone in her pocket vibrated again. Vadim. Fourth missed call. “Grandma is worried” “Where are you?” “Mika, this isn’t funny anymore.”       Messages popped up one after another. She muted the sound and turned the phone upside down. “They can track the calls,” Mark said, not even looking in her direction. “I know,” Mica said sharply.       But it wasn’t just that.       She was afraid to hear his voice. She was afraid that the tremor would betray her fear. She was afraid that if she said a single word, she would burst into tears.       Instead, she dug into the files.       Report after report. Photo by photo.       Genetic experiments. Unrecorded clinical trials. Disappearances. “They’ve already tested my technique,” she whispered when she saw the familiar formulas in someone else’s report. “On living people.”       Mark silently pushed the cup of coffee toward her. “It’s not your fault.”       She clenched her fists. “Wexler was talking about' acceleration.' I just… I didn’t want to believe it.”       The phone lit up again. Unknown phone number.             Mark was instantly alert. “Don’t take it.” Mica reached for the phone, but he grabbed her by the wrist. “It could be them.” “And if it’s Vadim from someone else’s phone number? “What is it?” she blurted out. “If he’s in trouble?”       The call pulsed on the screen.       One missed call.       Silence.       Then — a text message tone.       She reached for the phone. “We’ll meet in person, Dr. Kline. I’m sure your brother is a great conversationalist.”       Attached photo: Vadim in a school uniform, coming out of the entrance. Today’s date is on the shop sign behind him.       Coffee spilled across the table like blood. “They found him.”       Mark was already grabbing his keys. “Where should he be now?” “School, then—” “Address.”       She squeezed it out, feeling the world narrow to a single point: “Not to him. Please, not him.”       Mark tossed her the gun. “Do you know how to use it?”       Mica looked down at the gun.       Now she knew.