# Rift Protocol: 72 Hours to Die

Author: Marcus Vane
Site: ReadNovelHub
Canonical: https://readnovelhub.com/novel/rift-protocol-72-hours-to-die
Genre: Mafia-Dark-Romance

## World
He is sworn to execute the apocalypse creator—who is currently sleeping in his arms.

## Tropes
- Forced Proximity
- Dark Romance
- Mafia & Dark Romance
- Cyberpunk & Sci-Fi
- Mafia-Dark-Romance
- Cyberpunk-SciFi

## FAQ
### What is Rift Protocol: 72 Hours to Die about?
He is sworn to execute the apocalypse creator—who is currently sleeping in his arms.

### Who is the author of Rift Protocol: 72 Hours to Die?
Rift Protocol: 72 Hours to Die is written by Marcus Vane. Read Chapter 1 free on ReadNovelHub.

### Is Rift Protocol: 72 Hours to Die a Forced Proximity story?
Yes. Rift Protocol: 72 Hours to Die is tagged for Forced Proximity, Dark Romance readers looking for North American romance-fantasy tropes.

### Can I read Rift Protocol: 72 Hours to Die Chapter 1 for free?
Yes. Chapter 1-5 Free. Chapter 6+ unlocked via Ads or a $0.00 trial. Start Rift Protocol: 72 Hours to Die on ReadNovelHub.

### What happens at the start of Rift Protocol: 72 Hours to Die?
"Don't move." The gun's already against my temple before I open my eyes. Cold metal. Steady hand. I'm flat on concrete, and everything smells like burnt plastic and copper. "Hands out. Slow." I do it.

## Chapter 1 teaser
### Rift Protocol - Chapter 1: Waking Up Under Fire

"Don't move." The gun's already against my temple before I open my eyes. Cold metal. Steady hand. I'm flat on concrete, and everything smells like burnt plastic and copper. "Hands out. Slow." I do it. My palms scrape the floor. Grit under my nails. My head's splitting, and there's a ringing in my ears that won't quit. "Who sent you?" I blink. The room's dim. One overhead bulb swinging. Shadows everywhere. The man holding the gun is maybe six-two, dark hair, stubble, and eyes like he's already decided I'm dead. "I don't—" My voice cracks. "I don't know what you're talking about." "Wrong answer." He cocks the hammer. "You've got ten seconds." "I don't know!" I'm breathing too fast. My ribs hurt. "I don't know who sent me. I don't know where I am. I don't even know my own damn name." His jaw tightens. He doesn't believe me. "Please," I say. "Just—just tell me what's going on." "You tell me." He crouches down, gun still trained on my face. Up close, I can see the scar running through his left eyebrow. The way his finger rests on the trigger. "You crawled out of the blast zone thirty seconds ago. No burns. No blood. Just you, walking around like nothing happened." "Blast zone?" "The explosion." His voice is flat. "The one that took out the entire east wing. The one you should be dead from." I try to remember. There's nothing. Just a blank wall where the last few hours—days?—should be. "I don't remember an explosion," I say. "I don't remember anything." "Convenient." "I'm serious." I push up on my elbows. The gun follows me. "I woke up on this floor with your gun in my face. That's it. That's all I've got." He studies me. His eyes are gray. Cold. The kind of cold that's already buried a lot of people. "What's your name?" he says. I open my mouth. Nothing comes. "I don't know,

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