Unless the value isn’t in what they show.
Unless the value is inwhenthey were taken.
Alejandro is the anchor in the one photo and I still don’t know what they mean yet.
I only know they mattered enough for him to erase.
That’s not paranoia. That’s priority.
I close the phone and slide it back into my pocket, the cold air biting at my skin. The hum of the cooler fills the silence, steady and unjudging.
I’m done waiting for explanations.
If Alejandro won’t tell me the truth, I’ll force it out of him myself.
And this time, I won’t give him the chance to stepin my way.
Isend the text while walking as I drop the marble I picked up off the floor into my pocket.
ALEJANDRO: Saint’s in the wind.
The reply comes almost immediately.
UNKNOWN: Not an option.
UNKNOWN: Find her.
My jaw tightens. Of course there’s no space for uncertainty, no room for complications. The plan doesn’t bend because someone has feelings about it. It doesn’t slow because Saint decided to think for herself.
Tonight is happening. No matter who resists it. No matter who tries to stop it.
And I need Saint next to me when it does.
There can be no other outcome than that.
ALEJANDRO: I’ll find her.
The AV overflow room is exactly where I left it. I pause at the corner, scan the corridor, let a pair of catering staffpass before slipping inside. The door swings shut quietly behind me.
The rifle case sits where it should, buried among identical black shells and tangled cables. I take a second longer than necessary to look at it, the weight of the choice settling in my chest.
Then I sling it over my shoulder and move.
If Saint’s gone quiet, it’s because she found something. Which means she’s already moving. Saint never freezes. She pivots.
She’s either half gone or already on her way to me.
The locker room is empty when I reach it but I check anyway, habit overriding trust.
I strip out of the service uniform in seconds. Jacket off. Shirt gone. Shoes kicked aside. I move with the speed of someone who has done this under worse conditions, with higher stakes. The rifle settles against my back like it belongs there, like it’s been waiting.
I cross to Saint’s locker.
The metal is cold under my fingers. The lock is still set. I test it once before I try a code that would have worked two years ago.
Nothing.
I exhale slowly and take out my blade. Stepping into the locker, using my body to hide the weapon, I slide the knife into the thin strip and pop the latch. The door swings open.
