Mug clink.
Cabinet creak.
She has no idea yet that her face is currently worth enough money to fund someone's retirement.
My vision edges dark for a second.
“Pull the listing,” I snap. “You’ve been inside that board. Just… edit it. Spoof it. Drop the payout to zero. Make them think it’s a scam. Something.”
Dean shakes his head once. “We can’t. We took a run at their infrastructure after River’s case, remember? The minute we start brute-forcing threads or altering tags, we tip Helios/Luka that we’ve got a root past his curtains. Then he burns it all down and builds somewhere we can’t see. Right now, those bounties are ugly—but they’re also leverage. Evidence. Windows.”
“I don’t give a shit about windows,” I say, sharper than I intend. “I care about not having my girlfriend’s face printed out in someone’s glove compartment.”
Arrow’s eyes flick up again at the wordgirlfriend.
He doesn’t say anything about it.
Yet.
Then, I look at Gage, and he doesn’t look happy.
“Girlfriend?” he questions.
Fuck.
“We can discuss this at a later date. When you’re both safe,” Dean interrupts, and I’m thankful for the interruption. “Right now I want you to know we’re doing things.”
“We’re not sitting on our hands,” Arrow says. “We’re moving on two fronts. First: containment. We’re tracking chatter on all the sub-channels Luka’s people use, watching for anyone who bites on your listing. Second: pressure. Dean’s in contact with people who don’t like Luka siphoning money through their pipes. We squeeze his supply side, he gets distracted.”
“That’s great for the long term,” I say. “Does nothing about the next forty-eight hours while every two-bit assassin with a Wi-Fi connection plugs our names into their GPS.”
Silence.
Ozzy clears his throat. “Look, man. We knew the second the bounty went up that this could escalate. You decided to stay in it anyway.”
“I decided to hunt people who hurt women for fun,” I shoot back. “I did not decide to make Lark a prize on some low-rent murder Etsy.”
“Knight.” Dean’s voice cuts through the rising volume.
Firm.
Not angry.
Just… grounded.
“You did not make Lark anything,” he says. “Lark chose to stand where she’s standing. She’s not a bystander. She’s part of this operation. You don’t get to rewrite her role just because it scares you.”
It hits home because he’s right.
Again.
I exhale, long and slow. “Okay,” I say quietly. “Then we treat her like part of the op, not like cargo.”
Dean nods once. “Exactly.”
Ranger leans forward, elbows on knees. “Option one,” he says. “You stay where you are. We double the watch. We keep sweeping the perimeter every couple hours via satellite and drone. The cabin’s isolated, one road in, good sight lines. Downside? You’re static. Sitting ducks if someone manages to trace you.”
“Option two,” another security specialist chimes in. I think his name is Orion. “You move. Full ghost. No more comfort, no more internet drops, no more coordinated check-ins. You go dark, live like ghosts for a while. Upside: harder to hit a moving target. Downside: harder for us to help if something goes sideways. And if you trip one of Luka’s people offline, we might not know until it’s too late.”
