“Lena,” I say, “give me eyes.”
“Traffic cams are hot. Working a blind.”
Ronan’s voice is pure steel. “Keep her alive. That’s the mission.”
As if I could forget.
Lark’s breathing is fast now. She presses a hand to her chest like she’s holding her heart in place.
I take another turn—harder—into a narrower street lined with shuttered shops. The car behind us honks once, aggressively, trying to force me to make a mistake.
I won’t.
I’ve made enough mistakes in my life to memorize their cost.
Lark’s voice cracks through the noise. “Why—why are they doing this in public?”
Because they think they can.
Because they’ve been doing it long enough to believe the world is theirs.
Because they’re patient until they don’t have to be.
I answer her anyway.
“Because you’re worth it.”
The words hang between us, terrible and true.
Her head turns toward me slowly, eyes wide. “I’m not.”
I glance at her for half a heartbeat.
“Then why didn’t they take the people around you?” I say. “Why didn’t they grab any tourist with a purse and a phone?”
She doesn’t answer.
Because she knows.
Deep down, she’s always known her work wasn’t harmless.
She just wanted to believe it didn’t matter.
The street opens into a small service road that runs behind a row of buildings—trash bins, back doors, a single security light flickering.
I take it.
The van hesitates at the entrance, too large for the narrow lane.
The hatchback dives in anyway, reckless.
Good.
I can work with reckless.
I push deeper, letting the buildings swallow us, and then I spot it—
A dead end.
