Heading back to the wide tunnel that will spit me back out in the crowded terminal, I spot a mom wrestling with a very squirmy toddler who is resisting the changing table mounted to the wall. The diaper bag hanging on the handle is not a thought in her mind right now. Neither is the ball cap shoved in it.
I lift the hat off the top without hesitation. Quick. Clean. I flip it on backward to add a little something more to my refreshed disguise.
I hover just inside the entrance, half-hidden by the bend in the wall, pretending to check my phone while I watch the concourse. I need to make sure Alejandro went to the gate before I make my move.
And because my brain hates peace, it pulls on the loose thread.
The laptop yesterday.
The two files missing from the Guildmaster x El Fantasma folder.
I slide Grim’s flip phone out of my pocket and type fast.
SAINT: Can you check the accountant’s laptop. See if any files were deleted yesterday.
I hit send and the sound of Alejandro’sdeep voice hits me. Not because he’s speaking at regular volume. Because he’s not. He’s trying to be quiet.
I hit send, and the sound of Alejandro’s voice reaches me.
Not because he’s loud.
Because he’s doing the opposite.
He’s just on the other side of the bathroom entrance. I can picture him without seeing him. Back turned to me. One shoulder angled toward the wall like it might absorb secrets. Phone pressed to his ear. One finger plugging the other so he can hear better over the terminal noise.
Careful.
And he’s speaking Spanish.
“Todo depende del momento oportuno.”
“Everything hinges on the right timing.”
My stomach tightens.
My brain scrambles for benign explanations because that’s what brains do when the alternative gets you killed. Maybe he’s talking to his broker. Maybe he’s updating logistics. The summit. The timing. Maybe I’m paranoid.
But paranoia doesn’t usually feel this specific.
The dread settles anyway, heavy and unwelcome, sinking into my chest like it knows the layout. I don’t move. I don’t breathe any louder. I don’t let my reflection change.
Because this isn’t about catching him in a lie.
It’s about the possibility that I didn’t read Alejandro wrong by accident.
It’s about the possibility that I trusted the wrong person on purpose.
I slide the phone into my back pocket and let my shouldersrelax like I’m done with it, like nothing just shifted under my feet.
I’m still in the bathroom tunnel, half-shadowed by tile and bad lighting, when I spot a killer across the concourse.
He’s moving. Walking with purpose. Eyes scanning faces instead of stores. Another hunter that knows prey is near.
Then he sees Alejandro.
The reaction is tiny. A flinch that never quite becomes one. A split-second sharpening, like a blade catching light. He pivots smoothly, drifting toward a charging counter, posture melting into casual as a phone appears in his hand. Pretending to email.
He glances up again and confirms it. That I’m not paranoid. He’s id’ed Alejandro and when his eyes flick sideways, he gives a sharp and deliberate nod.
