Iron Head was pacing again.Big surprise.Every time he thought too hard, he did this weird stomp-walk like he was trying to crush the floor beneath his boots. The dude was built like a brick wall, muscles packed onto muscles, face all hard angles and scowls. No neck, just shoulders. Basically, if a fist could turn into a person, it would be Iron Head.“I’m telling you,” he growled, “we hit him from the inside. Davion’s too careful. Too quiet. He won’t walk into a trap unless he thinks he’s the one setting it.”Mad Tiger leaned back on the crate he’d claimed as a chair. He was the opposite of Iron Head in every way — lanky, loose, twitchy fingers and a grin that never reached his eyes. Always smiling, always watching. Like a knife waiting for a reason.“He doesn’t trust anyone,” Tiger said, picking dirt from under his nails with a tiny blade. “He sleeps with one eye open. He knows we’re watching him.”Iron Head slammed a fist into the wall. Dust fell from the ceiling like the warehous