“Got everything,” he said. “And Voodoo?”
“Yeah?”
“You realize you just assaulted everyone in a twenty-foot radius.”
“Occupational hazard.”
I removed the flash drive, slid it back into my pocket, and stood.
Time to leave.
I gave a friendly nod to the operators. “All set. Sorry for the… musical interlude.”
“Man,” the guy wheezed, “that was incredible.”
“I’m gonna have that song stuck in my head all day,” the woman groaned.
I stepped into the stairwell and let the door close behind me.
Alphabet’s tone sharpened. “Heads up. The spotter is moving. He’s breaking from his post.”
Of course he was. Bones, Grace, and Lunchbox were still out there. The spotter seeing me peel off probably shifted his calculus.
“I have him,” Bones said through the comms, low and tight. “He’s heading toward Grace.”
Of course the prick was. The stairwell vibrated under my shoes as I started down fast. Three steps at a time.
“On my way,” I said.
Then this wasn’t just recon anymore.
The hunt was changing shape.
Again.
I hit the bottom of the stairwell and shouldered out into the wind, boots slapping the boardwalk hard enough that a couple tourists looked over. Didn’t matter. Subtlety wasn't a priority.
“Lunchbox, status,” Bones demanded in my ear.
Lunchbox’s voice came back lazy if you didn’t recognize the current of tension running underneath, taut as tripwire.
“He’s cutting us off,” Lunchbox said. “Not a fan of our little sightseeing tour, apparently.”
“Distance?” I asked, lengthening my stride.
“Forty feet and closing,” Lunchbox said. “Grace is playing it cool.”
“Totally faking it,” Grace admitted with only a hint of humor. “I’m freaking out on the inside.”
A grin curved my lips almost involuntarily. That woman…Ourwoman. I didn’t care how many of these bastards we had to take apart, but I really wanted the threat to her eliminated. Period.
The pier stretched in front of me—tourists, benches, informational plaques about maritime trade. And at the far side, near the railing:
Grace, holding Goblin’s leash in a tight fist. Lunchbox at her left, posture loose but eyes sharp. The spotter moving toward them with a slow, deliberate angle—crossing the space like he owned it.
I felt my pulse pick up, not fast—just hard. Focus tightening down to a single point.
“Don’t intercept yet,” Bones said. “Let him commit.”
