“This looks like… a cellular uplink. Separate from the main cam wiring. Like a backup route.”
He swears again. “If it’s a cellular backup, it might be sending metadata even if the main feed is looping. I’ll trace it.”
My stomach drops.
Inside, Knight has reached the office. I see him break into a file drawer on one of the cam feeds, snapping pictures of documents with his burner.
“Knight,” I say, “we might have a second problem. They’ve got another camera.”
“Of course they do,” he mutters. “Anything else?”
“Yeah.” I peek around the corner of the building, through a grimy window. “We’re not the only ones paying attention. Vale’sgot a buddy watching monitors in a back room. He looks twitchy.”
At the security console, a scrawny guy in a cheap windbreaker frowns at the screen, then taps the side of the monitor, confused.
Uh-oh.
“Arrow,” I say, “security creep is noticing your loop.”
“We’re almost done,” Knight says. “I’m in the safe.”
Panic and pride fight it out in my chest. I hold my breath, watching. Then, because the universe hates us, two things happen at once.
First: the guy at the security console leans closer, squinting, then slams a fist on a red button.
Second: Arrow says, very softly, “Oh, shit.”
All the screens flicker.
My loop cuts out.
The live feed jumps back on.
And there, in crisp HD, is Knight Hayes.
Face clear. Posture clear. In the middle of cracking a safe in a crime boss’s warehouse.
Silence.
Then alarms start wailing.
Not digital. Physical.
Real.
Knight swears. “We’re burned. Abort now.”
“Working on it,” Arrow snaps. “But that cellular backup already pushed a burst packet to an offsite node. I’m tracing it, but it’s not good. They’ve got both your faces.”
Fuck.
A door slams inside.
Voices shout.
Boots pound.
Knight bolts out of the office, cutting down a side hall, hugging the corner as two men with guns rush past toward the safe room.
