And in that quiet, she becomes more dangerous than she realizes.
Because it means her brain is working.
People like her don’t panic. They calculate.
And the enemy chose her for a reason.
I take the next right, then an immediate left, then a long straight stretch through residential buildings that look too normal to be useful.
The hatchback follows.
No hesitation.
Good.
Now we know.
I speak into the mic with my eyes still on the road.
“Ronan. Tail is confirmed.”
“Copy. Execute burn.”
Lark’s head snaps toward me. “Burn?”
“It means we stop being polite.”
I take the next corner harder—not fast enough to scream trouble, but sharp enough to force a decision behind us. The hatchback hesitates for half a second, then swings the turn.
Too eager.
That isn’t a tourist. That isn’t a lost driver.
That’s a man with instructions.
Lark inhales, slow and controlled. “This isn’t about me being mugged.”
“No.”
The street opens up ahead into a wider roadway. I see the lights of a small roundabout. I also see, beyond it, the narrowlane that will take us to the garage access point Lena secured earlier.
I keep my hands steady on the wheel.
And then, right as we approach the roundabout—
A pedestrian steps off the curb.
Wrong.
His timing is wrong. His posture is wrong. His head is down, but his shoulders are too squared, like he’s bracing for impact.
A stopper.
Not the tail.
The net.
My whole body goes cold with certainty.
