The subordinate looked back at the convoy. The vehicles behind were stacking up. Pedestrians on both sidewalks had stopped to watch. Two women pulled out their phones."The amount I'm offering is fair for the visible damage." The subordinate stepped closer, lowering his voice. "The full scope of the damage profile isn't reflected in what I'm holding, and we both know that. But we can handle the rest through proper channels.""Proper channels." Lucas raised both eyebrows. "You mean insurance? Wonderful. Let me see your registration. Your license. Proof of insurance. The vehicle authority certificate. All of it."The subordinate blinked."Is this vehicle registered in this state?" Lucas tilted his head. "Is it registered at all? Because I don't see plates on that thing. And a car without plates that just rear ended a Maserati in broad daylight at a public intersection is the kind of story that makes the evening news."The subordinate's neck went red. He glanced toward the convoy again.

Lucas Davis calls in at three minutes past midnight. His voice is controlled but there is something underneath it that Marcus hasn't heard before."The man they sent with me is talking." Lucas kept his eyes on the subordinate in the passenger seat. "His name is Garrett. Mid level. Been with the Skyfire operation for two years. He knows the convoy routes, the communication schedule, and the rotation pattern for the Saint Heir's personal detail."Marcus stood on the rooftop overlooking the old town's layout. The wind pulled at his collar but his body didn't move."What does he know about the Heir's capabilities?" Marcus's voice was flat, like a man reading numbers off a page."Enough to make me wish I hadn't asked." Lucas exhaled hard through his nose. "The walking on water thing isn't a trick. It's not even his best one. Garrett says the Heir burned through three separate training compounds during his development. Not because he failed. Because the buildings couldn't survive the energy

"We have something worse than a mole." Harlan buttoned his jacket and moved toward the door. "We have someone who knows exactly how we think, exactly how we move, and exactly where every single one of us sleeps at night. And right now, that person is watching us stumble around in the dark like blind rats in a maze.""Where are you going?" Stanley's chair scraped backward."To do what this room should have done three hours ago." Harlan opened the door. "I'm going to find out who took Bridger Davis before they use what he knows to bury every single person at this table."Bane followed his father out without looking back. The door closed behind them.Meanwhile, Marcus moved through the old town tracking the Skyfire convoy's residual communication signals. The lighter in his pocket had stopped pulsing. It sat against his thigh like a dead thing, cold and silent now where it had been warm ten minutes ago.He approached the gravel path that ran along the river bank east of the Ridge estate.

The flame passed his left ear close enough to singe the hair above his temple and hit the tree behind him. The trunk exploded into a column of fire that burned for three seconds and then went out, leaving nothing but a black skeleton of smoking wood.The two escorts reached for their weapons."Don't." The Saint Heir raised one hand without looking at them. His eyes were locked on Marcus.The gravel road was silent. The only sound was the faint crackle of the dying embers in the ruined tree.The Saint Heir looked at Marcus with the expression of a man who has just fully reclassified who he is dealing with. The casual contempt was gone from his face. What replaced it was something closer to professional attention."That robe is ruined." The Saint Heir's voice was different now. Quieter. More careful. "But the hand underneath it isn't burned.""Your observation skills are improving." Marcus let the charred fabric fall from his shoulder. Beneath it, his hand was untouched. Not red. Not bl

Truman straightened his back another inch."We are allies." Truman's jaw was tight enough to crack walnuts. "But I need to address something first. Your organization sent an assassin named Antonio to this estate two days ago. He was killed defending this property. My men found him at the north wall."The Saint Heir's face went blank."You're accusing Skyfire of sending an assassin to your home." The Saint Heir's words came out slow and measured, like a man placing tiles on a board."I'm not accusing. I'm informing." Truman pulled a folded photograph from his jacket and held it up. "Antonio. Your forward scout. Found with Skyfire communication equipment, Skyfire identification markers, and a Skyfire issued blade buried in the throat of one of my guards. Is that your man or isn't it?"The Saint Heir looked at the photograph for three seconds."That is my man." No apology. No explanation. Just confirmation delivered with the warmth of a stone wall."Your man killed one of mine." Truman's