“Copy.”
We started moving—quick, controlled, silent. The spotter stumbled blindly between Bones and Legend while Voodoo kept an eye on every exit point like he’d memorized the place weeks ago instead oftoday. Goblin flowed at my heel like smoke.
My heart pounded hard enough it felt like my ribs were vibrating.
Up ahead, Voodoo lifted a hand—a silent stop signal.
We all froze.
Footsteps.
Not ours.
Close.
Coming down the other end of the alley.
Bones turned, grabbed the spotter, and shoved him tight against the wall, one hand clamped over his mouth over thebeanie. Legend braced beside them, ready to quiet the man if he panicked.
Voodoo drifted backward until he was inches from me, positioning himself between me and the approaching shadows.
He didn’t even look back. He just said, low and calm, “I’ve got you.”
And I believed him. I believed all of them. The footsteps drew nearer, slow and searching. We held our breath.
The hunt had found the trail. Unsurprisingly, we were the trail. The footsteps came closer. Slow. Careful. Someone sweeping the alley like they expected rats. Or bodies.
Voodoo’s body blocked half my field of view, but not his peripheral awareness—he kept his weight on the balls of his feet, shoulders angled, hand near his camera bag like the thing doubled as a weapon. Legend tensed behind me, and based on his whitened knuckles, Bones’ grip on the spotter’s mouth tightened.
Then—
The footsteps stopped.
A man’s voice—low, irritated—muttered something in Spanish I didn’t fully catch, but between what words I did hear and the tone, it was most likely,Where the hell is he?
A second voice answered from somewhere farther down the dock, it was clearer if barely audible but still in Spanish.He stopped responding. Sweep wide.
My stomach dropped.
They were hunting their missing spotter.
Bones’ lips moved in a faint whisper we could hear through the comm, “Two inbound. One ahead, one right.”
Voodoo’s posture shifted—so small I don’t think I would have noticed it before, but I did now. I knew him, how he moved, how they all moved. I’d learned the difference between soft tension and lethal readiness.
He was ready.
“Grace,” he breathed without turning, “when we move, follow me. Don’t stop.”
I nodded, then said, “I will,” in the barest whisper I could manage because he wasn’t looking at me. I didn’t realize until that second that my hands were shaking.
Which was when the first man stepped into view.
Tall. Broad. Gray tactical jacket. One hand in his pocket like a guy walking to grab lunch. As casual as he was trying to appear, it registered as wrong. Not just because of the way predators moved before they struck, but alsowherewe were.
He scanned the alley.
His gaze was about to land on Bones. On the blindfolded spotter. On us.
