Vince, who had been trying to reclaim his composure, barked a laugh that was half a sob. “You were told to hide it in her coat? You idiots hid a nuclear bomb in a walking target. Who planned this genius move?”“Don’t mock her,” Dylan said sharply. “Mock your boss for thinking this is a solo job.”Tank groaned, propping himself up on the curb. “Look,” he said, voice thick with pain, “we did what we were told. We didn’t know names. We didn’t know… we were told to grab the package and get out. If the boss wanted her dead, he’d tell us. If he didn’t, he’d give us the folder and ask for a receipt. That’s the deal.”“That’s not the deal,” Dylan said. “The deal is someone with power thought they could run a ledger and a hit list at the same time. That’s sloppy — and sloppy is where people make mistakes.”Rico’s hand went to his coat pocket, fingers curling around keys. “You think you’re clever enough to walk away from this, talk to the cops, babysit her? You think the world’s black and white

The girl collapsed against Dylan, knees buckling and arms trembling. Rain plastered her hair to her pale face. She whispered hoarsely, “They… they weren’t supposed to kill me. Just… deliver me.” Her teeth chattered, not entirely from cold.Dylan’s brow furrowed as he tightened his grip, sliding her onto his side. “Deliver you where?” he asked, scanning the alley. Every shadow felt alive, waiting for the next ambush.“They… they just… they weren’t supposed to… hurt me,” she rasped. Her voice caught in a shuddering breath. “My father… he… he found things. Things he shouldn’t have. Numbers… accounts… fraud… people who thought they were untouchable.”Dylan’s eyes narrowed. “Numbers… fraud… sounds familiar. Did your father—” He stopped himself, connecting the dots too quickly. His mind raced through the ledger, the folders, the missing files. The same kind of corruption that had kept him chasing this mess for months. “Your father uncovered something. Something big. Something someone wanted

The safehouse smelled of damp wood and old metal, the kind of place that never fully lost the stink of rain. A single lamp in the corner cast a pale yellow glow over the room. Clara lay on the cot, wrapped in Marcus’s spare blanket, her eyes flickering open now and then. Dylan sat nearby on a battered chair, arms folded, watching her like a hawk.Marcus was fussing over a med kit, and Eli sat hunched near the door, shaking and muttering to himself.Clara’s lips parted. “Dylan?” Her voice was soft, scratchy, but steady enough.He leaned closer. “I’m here.”Her eyes studied him for a long moment, as if she still wasn’t sure he was real. “Why… why did you save me? You could’ve walked away. Would’ve been easier.”Dylan didn’t answer at first. He leaned back in the chair, staring at the cracks in the ceiling. “Easier, yeah. But I don’t do easy.”“That’s not an answer,” Clara said weakly, though her lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile.Dylan exhaled slowly. “Alright. I’ll give you

Dylan put a hand flat on the table. The map underneath was crinkled, coffee-stained, an amateur tactical board. “Where is he exactly? Eli, you said south side freight yard—give me details.”Eli swallowed. “Dock Eleven, the one with the rusted gantry. They keep the small crates there, the ones that go in and out through the night. Damian’s men call it the safehouse. It’s got two guards up front, one in a tower. And if they suspect a runner, they put three patrols inside and two on the perimeter. There’s a loading ramp that faces the east alley—easy to watch. If you know the schedule, you can move when the shift changes.”Marcus muttered, “And the cameras?”“There are cameras,” Eli said. “But Rico pays the techs who run them. He can loop footage for a minute if he wants. He likes redundancy. They’ve got at least two blind spots on the east ramp. We could use them.”Dylan tapped the table twice. “We either exploit those blind spots, or we make a diversion. Both of those require someone w

Dylan straightened, blood slick across his knuckles, his chest rising and falling like a predator ready to strike. His eyes locked on Rico.“You should’ve stayed gone.”Rico’s grin was wide, teeth flashing in the dim light of the safehouse workshop. He held his shotgun casually, like it was just another tool in his hands. “Gone? Nah. I don’t vanish, Dylan. I bring storms.” He tilted his head, sneering. “And I brought friends.”Two more men shoved their way in behind him—heavy boots thundering on the wooden floor, pistols drawn.Dylan didn’t flinch. He reached for the corner of Marcus’s workbench, fingers gripping the old oil-stained tablecloth. With a hard yank, the whole thing came down. The lamp toppled, glass shattering. Oil spilled, dark and glistening across the floorboards. A moment later, the flame caught.Whoomph.Fire roared up instantly, a wall of heat and light cutting the room in half.The thugs stumbled back, coughing, squinting against the sudden smoke.Marcus shouted, “