Even as background, her sketch was precise enough to match any database we had.
“Thanks.”
She smiled again. “You’re welcome.”
I walked away, forcing my steps to stay even while my mind raced.
Immediately heading toward the rear entrance, I shot a picture of Wizard, one of my brothers. Then I slipped outside, crossed the lot, and called him, knowing he was the one guy who could get me the information I needed because he was a tech genius.
“Yo.” Wizard’s voice came through with zero preamble.
“Got a symbol for you. Need you to run it through anything that isn’t public facing. Go deep. Looking for syndicate ties, not aesthetic matches.”
He grunted. “You saying this came from an active job?”
“No. From Elena.”
There was silence, then a muttered, “Fuck.”
“Exactly.”
“I’ll call you back when I have something.”
It didn’t take long.
An hour later, I was in the lounge at the club, sitting at the long counter with a beer in one hand and my boots propped on a stool. Wizard stalked in with his phone in hand and an annoyed look on his face.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just dropped his phone on the bar, screen lit up with the symbol. Then he tapped twice, and another image came up—an old scan from a surveillance case we’d done recently. Nearly identical.
“This is active. Syndicate tier-two. Not decorative. These aren’t artistic embellishments. They’re code modifications for rank structure.”
“Fuck me,” I muttered.
“These don’t go online. They don’t float around as art inspo. You don’t find these on Reddit boards or tattoo flash sets. This shit is proprietary.”
“Someone’s feeding it to her.”
Wizard nodded slowly. “And whoever it is knows exactly what they’re doing.”
Rage simmered under my skin, low and deadly.
Elena had no idea how deep she was in.
She’d been trained to notice things most people missed, whether she realized it or not. To recreate what she saw and instinctively refine it. To build a lexicon of symbols that didn’t just look good—they meant something.
And that made her a fucking liability.
Not to us.
To them.
If anyone in those networks saw her work. If they realized what she could do with half a sketch and five minutes of silence, they wouldn’t see a tattoo apprentice. They’d see a threat.
They’d put her down without blinking.
“Whoever her mentor is—” I started.
Wizard cut in. “Needs to be checked out. I’ll start digging.”
