I frown. “What?”
Across the theater, a sharp clink of metal against glass pulls my attention away from the phone.
One tap.
Then another.
Then a third.
Slow. Evenly spaced. Deliberate.
I look up.
He’s standing alone on the opposite side of the glass, elevated above the chaos, framed perfectly by the city lights behind him. A Stetson sits low on his head, brim casting his eyes into shadow. His posture is relaxed, smug, like he’s just wandered into a bar he owns.
Mother. Fucking. Colt Harrington.
He lifts a hand and gives me a lazy little wave, fingers curling in greeting.
One fingeris missing.
The bandage wrapped around the stump is fresh.
My grip tightens around the marble.
In my ear, Grim keeps talking, blissfully unaware. “Yeah, shouldn’t take me long at all. I’ll?—”
“Sure,” I say slowly, never taking my eyes off Colt.
I let the silence stretch.
“Take your time.”
He doesn’t move.
Neither do I.
For a suspended beat, we just look at each other through layers of glass and distance, something unspoken passing between us. Not a threat. Not a warning. An acknowledgment. Like we both understand the rules just shifted and the board has been cleared.
Then I move.
The marble disappears into my pocket. The phone follows. I don’t slow down long enough to explain myself or pretend this is anything other than instinct taking the wheel.
“Ummm,” Grim says in my ear, “I feel like something’s happening.”
I don’t answer.
I launch myself off the stage edge, boots hitting hard, momentum carrying me forward as I shoulder through a service door and burst back into the corridors. People are still clustered in shock, faces pale, voices loud and overlapping. I plow straight through them, apologies useless, urgency sharper than courtesy.
I break into a sprint.
My legs burn, arms pumping as I hit open air again, the night thick with heat and noise and movement. I don’t slow. I step onto the edge of a planter, use it for leverage, and grabthe high iron fence. My body knows what to do. I scale it in one smooth motion and drop cleanly on the other side, landing in a crouch with my fingers brushing pavement.
The assassins are here.
And this is a city that doesn’t sleep.
Dubai’s nightlife is just getting started, streets filling with music and light and people who have no idea how close they are to becoming collateral. That won’t work. Not for me. Not for what’s coming next.
